


Call The Sunshine To My Soul

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Eventual Smut, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 04:20:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis Tomlinson is 19 years old and a psych-student. He’s always looking for a spark, for a big mystery to figure out, but nothing can hold his attention for long. That changes when he meets Harry Styles, a 17-year-old boy who has been blind since birth. Harry is the most beautiful thing Louis has ever seen, and in return, Louis is the most beautiful thing Harry has ever felt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! I'm cowriting this fic with a lovely lady called Caroline. Go find her on tumblr, ofcuteboys.tumblr.com  
> Find me on tumblr: doncastertea.tumblr.com  
> Find this fic on tumblr: larryletters.tumblr.com
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Louis had grown up as the man of the house, since his father left when he was little and he was the oldest of five siblings. He loved his mother dearly, but she worked long hours to provide for the family and frequently left Louis with more responsibilities than a teenager could handle. He was a father figure and role model for his younger sisters throughout his life. He was constantly pressured to make the “right” decision, to succeed in school and still be sociable and spend time with his friends, yet also give back to the community and maintain a weekend job, and be a stellar captain for the football team, and on top of all that, to care for his little sisters whenever his mom worked late, which was often. He always thought leaving for university would be a weight off his shoulders.

Louis didn’t really mind having to take care of other people, but he needed something different, needed to lose himself in something he loved doing. He needed to make sure that he didn’t get stuck in Doncaster. Louis loved his hometown, but he wanted to see new faces, new people, because he had already figured everyone out here. That’s what Louis was good at, that’s what he loved. Louis loved figuring people out, could tell if a smile was genuine or fake, could feel it if a person was sad or angry. The thing was, Louis also really wanted to help those people, but he never really knew how. So that’s when he announced to his mother that he was going to attend university in Manchester to take a psychology course. He’d been excited, and a little nervous, and a little sad he was leaving, but he really needed to fly away because Louis wasn’t the kind of person that could fit into a small town.

His mother was devastated to see him go, but Louis was a stellar student and he’d earned full scholarship at Manchester, and it was too great of an opportunity to pass up. The day he left was tearful for the girls, but strangely, Jay didn’t cry. She could see something in Louis that she hadn’t ever seen before. A spark, a little glint in his eye, that perhaps made Jay think he was in for something huge. She always knew Louis would do something important with his life, and it seemed fitting that as soon as he had the responsibility of taking care of his siblings out of his life he would dedicate it to helping other people. She saw big things for Louis, and she’d never been prouder of him. Louis drove himself to Manchester with all of his belongings in the back of his secondhand Buick. His first few weeks at school were incredible, full of wild parties and new best friends and exciting classes that made Louis think and question in ways high school never had. 

Louis didn’t know anyone when he arrived in Manchester, so he had ended up sharing his dorm room with a complete stranger. Now, Louis really isn’t that much of a difficult person to live with, seeing as he’d lived with four younger sisters in a small house. But his roomie was this guy named Tom and Tom was an arsehole. Tom studied Medicine, which basically meant he thought he was better than every living thing that walked around on campus. Now, Louis could take that, could ignore that, but the thing was, Tom was also as homophobic as they come. Louis’s sexuality wasn’t exactly a secret - he did things at parties that made it quite hard to ignore the fact that he was gay - and Tom picked up on it quick enough. Louis heard the word ‘fag’ at least three times a day and Tom was always muttering shit under his breath about “unsanitary” and “HIV-positive”. Louis was this close to beating him up when he met Niall.

Niall was… easy. Niall liked everything and everyone and had this calming mood over him. Louis met him at a party when they were both spectacularly drunk. All Louis remembers is sitting on Niall’s shoulders, a lot of screaming, and a lot of failed attempts at being each other’s wingman. The next day, he’d woken up on the couch, smelling of beer and sweat, when Niall set down a glass and an aspirine on the coffee table next to him.

“I take it this is your dorm then?” Louis had mumbled, eyes still closed.

“Yup. We’re famous for our legendary parties.”

For some reason, Niall’s Irish accent made him even more likeable. And that was that, Louis and Niall started going to parties together, and at some point they ended up hanging out between classes. Niall was majoring in music, and he was a sick guitar player. One night, they were playing video games in Louis’s room when Tom came back from a date (who would even date him?).

“Can’t you do your shit somewhere else, fag? Some people actually need to study.” Tom had spat.

Niall had simply flipped him off and showered him with a bunch of Irish insults that Louis can’t remember for the life of him. Tom had stood there wide-eyed for a couple of seconds, before he turned around, slammed the door and left. Louis laughed for fifteen minutes straight after that.

But Louis still hadn’t found his challenge yet. Niall was an open book that even a five-year-old could read. That was a good thing, but Louis’s fingers itched for someone more complicated. One day, when Louis was lunching on his own between classes in the cafeteria, he noticed a dark-skinned, black-haired guy that was also sitting by himself. He had a broody look on his face and he was reading (Macbeth of Robinson Crusoe or whatever, Louis didn’t really take an interest in literature). Louis liked him immediately, because he was a mystery. He was a challenge.

Louis had sat down in front of him, introduced himself and had waited patiently for mystery guy to finish his chapter. Meanwhile, Louis admired his jawline, because, well, damn. His hair was perfectly styled and it looked like he had walked straight out of a fashion magazine. When mystery guy closed his book, he looked up at Louis, and introduced him with a Bradford accent. Mystery guy turned out to be Zayn, and he studied - of course - literature.

Now, a year later, Zayn, Louis and Niall live together off campus, and Louis knows he’s damn lucky. Niall has taught him how to play guitar and Zayn always does his hair when he wants it in a quiff and Louis knows perfectly how they like their tea. Life is good, Louis is happy, but his fingers are getting that familiar itch again, because it’s been a while since he’s had a challenge. Louis needs a new mystery.

—

Anne told herself not to worry when her second child didn’t look at her after it was born. It was quite easy to convince herself of that in that moment, because she was so overjoyed to hold her newborn son in her arms. Gemma crawled up on the bed and closed her small hands around Harry’s tiny ones. The baby seemed startled at the touch, but didn’t start crying, so Ann didn’t tell Gemma to let go.

“Hi, Harry, I’m your big sister, Gemma.” she whispered.

Harry turned to the direction of the sound of Gemma’s voice, but didn’t look her in the eyes. Anne’s worries didn’t last for long though, when she heard Harry laughing softly, and she laughed with him, because she was with her two children and her husband was down the hall getting her some tea and she couldn’t be luckier.

A week later, Harry still hadn’t really looked at her. At first, Anne thought that it was because a newborn baby’s sight hasn’t fully developed yet. Maybe, he just couldn’t see very well and it would blow over in a couple of weeks. Three weeks later she was really starting to get concerned, and she thought that maybe Harry was a little scared, or a little overwhelmed by everything around him. When Harry was four weeks old, Anne was starting to get anxious. Why wouldn’t her child look at her? She expressed her concerns to her doctor, but was told to come back a few weeks later because it was too soon to draw any conclusions about her son’s sight.

Eight weeks after Harry was born, some tests were done and scans were made. Anne had to wait another week for results, but she tried to stay positive, even though Harry still hadn’t looked anyone in the eyes yet. His eyes would dart around the room when he heard someone speaking until he found the source of the sound, but not once had it seemed like he was actually looking at something.

When she got the call, she had just put Harry to sleep. Her son’s optic nerve hadn’t correctly developed. From what Anne understood, that nerve was what transmitted images from the eyes to the brain.

Harry was blind.

The news stunned Anne and her husband, completely shifted their hopes and dreams for Harry. They had never anticipated having to go through the struggles of raising a handicapped child. But Harry grew up to be healthy otherwise and smart as a whip. He wouldn’t look at you in conversation but he could prattle on for hours and hours about anything and everything. He was truly a joy to be around.

Anne never could quite understand why the other kids at school didn’t understand that. In Kindergarten, they were curious. Why does that little boy have a cane? Why won’t he look at me when he laughs at my jokes? In second grade, they knew something was wrong with Harry, that there was something “less” about him. The teasing didn’t really start until fifth grade and Anne thanked Liam for that.

Liam was easily the sweetest boy on the playground other than her son. She was friends with Liam’s mother Ruth, and so Harry and Liam became fast friends. Liam protected Harry, shielding him from the other children whenever they would come too close or say something too mean for Harry’s ears. He didn’t mind that Harry couldn’t see him. He’d guide him from classroom to classroom, letting Harry’s warm, soft hands grip his arm almost painfully hard. 

Liam was Harry’s only friend, his sole confidant. He made Harry’s elementary school years bearable. Liam would walk Harry home from school every day and he could come over and play with Harry, a different game every day. When Liam chose the game it was soldiers, where Harry would hunt him down or else Harry would hide and Liam would run after him. When Harry chose the game, they would go on an adventure, traveling across the street to the jungle-like playground and Liam would describe things to Harry and he would run his hands over the trees and the grass and the soft dirt. Those memories made it that much more painful when Liam moved away to boarding school in year six. 

By the time Harry got to high school, he used a walking stick. There was no one to guide him, no one who cared that much for him. There was his mum, of course, but she had a job and she couldn’t very well be leading Harry around school. And Gemma, who he adored, had long since gone off to university. Outside of his family, Harry had no one. The guidance counselor at school always told him to just make new friends, as if it were so easy. And Harry tried, really he did.

He would sit down in his seat at the back of the classroom, and sometimes the person would mumble a polite “hello” so Harry would desperately try to strike up a conversation, but something stopped him. He stuttered, tripping over his words. His throat would close up, and he choked, every time. Defeated and dejected, he would turn away. And the worst part was that he couldn’t see the other person’s reaction. If there was any flicker of sympathy for Harry before the raucous laughter, he didn’t know it. 

His first therapist diagnosed him with Social Anxiety. She prescribed a medication that would lower his heart rate and therefore relax him, and sent him on his way. As the days passed, Harry grew more and more exhausted but never found it easier to talk to people. He went off the medication and his mother found a new therapist, one that could talk to Harry and perhaps advise him.


	2. Chapter One

Harry awakes not to the soft light of the sun, shining through his window and filtered by filmy curtains, but to the equally soft touch of his mother’s hand, rubbing his shoulder.

“Time to get up, Harry.” She sighs, sitting on the edge of his bed.

Just like every morning, a feeling of helplessness washes over him as his mum holds firmly onto his arm, helping him out of bed and into the bathroom. He can’t help but wonder if things will ever get better. It isn’t as if things are so bad right now, because they aren’t. There’s a warm shower for him to climb into once he fumbles his way out of his pajamas and he can do that on his own, and there’ll be pancakes waiting for him when he goes downstairs. So things are alright. But he wonders if he’ll ever know anything more than he knows right now, if his world will ever grow larger than home, school, therapy, home. It’s a tedious routine and he wishes he wasn’t so tired of being himself.

Harry knows that things will change at some point, because school doesn’t go on forever, but what is he supposed to do after? There’s so much he can’t do, and he’s reminded of it every single day. What if he wanted to be a doctor, or a structural engineer, or even a cab driver? Harry can’t, he can’t, he can’t, and it’s all he can think of. All Harry’s got is endless darkness and sounds and tastes and feelings and darkness. It’s unfair, really, how everyone knows what ‘red’ means and everyone knows what a flower looks like and everyone can describe their favourite car. Everyone.

Everyone but Harry.

Being at home is alright, actually. He can do almost everything on his own. Harry knows every corner, he knows that the third step of the stairs is a bit wobbly and that he has to be careful when he passes the laundry room because his mum leaves the door open sometimes. He has his little routines he’s learned throughout the years - he can shower without help, knows how to get the water to the right temperature and can feel from the shape of the bottles which one he has to use. He can get dressed on his own and Gemma thought him very patiently how to do the tie from his uniform.

It’s once he leaves his house that Harry finds trouble. He can navigate his street by the sounds and smells, has no problem finding his way to his house from a few blocks away. The Lyons, who live three doors down, have seven young children who are always making noise in the yard, so if Harry aims for their shrieking laughter he can count his steps until he finds his house. He can walk to Liam’s on his own, because Liam’s mum keeps a beautiful garden and he can smell the flowers blooming from down the street, but that’s hardly important because Liam’s never home anymore and now the smell of flowers just makes Harry feel that aching loneliness chewing at the pit of his stomach and clenching his throat. 

He doesn’t cry though, not any more. He doesn’t really know why, but he just can’t find it in himself to shed tears. One more thing his eyes can’t do, he supposes. 

Beyond his little neighborhood, Harry is as helpless as a baby fawn. If there’s no one to accompany him, he relies on the people around him and the stick clutched in his left hand, clicking back and forth on the sidewalk as he stumbles his way around. When he was younger, a skinny little ten year old ambling around helplessly, people would stop to help him if he looked lost or upset. But now everyone in town knows him, and they know to leave Harry Styles well enough alone. 

Two months after switching to a new therapist, he still can’t find his way there alone. It’s a mile from school along a busy highway and Anne wouldn’t let Harry walk alone even if he wanted to. He feels guilty, of course, that she has to leave her office at 3:30 every day to pick him up and drive him there, but it’s not something he can help and so he’s come to accept that his mum won’t mind driving him around when she has to. 

He just wishes she didn’t have to. 

The one place Harry hates more than anything, that he’d avoid if he could, is school. Because there, he really feels it. It’s all around him, he can feel it hanging in the air, and it’s inside of him too. Harry is limited. He’s the odd one out, and nothing reminds him more of it than going to school. But he needs to go five days out of seven, and it’s so exhausting, and he wishes he could just dissappear sometimes. Nobody would notice anyway, and if they did, they wouldn’t mind. They’d find another victim to pick on soon enough, and Harry would become a faint memory of ‘the weird blind kid in the back’.

School is torturous. Those thickly crowded halls seem to collapse on top of Harry every time he squirms his way through them, pushing through throngs of chattery teens who don’t seem to know he’s alive. He’s used to it, of course, but in a way, it still stings when someone elbows him in the chest as he passes and doesn’t notice. It’s astounding sometimes, that they can touch him and still not realize he’s alive. 

Gym class is the worst. Half the time, even the teacher doesn’t seem to see Harry there. He can feel the other kids brush past him as they run their laps. Harry stopped running when the teacher stopped paying him any attention. The other kids pick on him sometimes, in the locker room, but Harry almost prefers being bullied. At least when they hurl insults and punches his way, they acknowledge his existence. At least when they’re bullying him, he doesn’t feel so dead. 

English is the bright point in his day. In English, Harry has the guts to sit in the front of his class because his English teacher is the one person who hears Harry’s silent cries for affection. She’s young, only a few years out of college, Harry would guess. She always smells nice, like flowers, but not the kind that make Harry feel lonely. The artificial, sweet kind of ladies’ perfume and nice shampoo. She calls on Harry too, even though he doesn’t raise his hand. She knows Harry’s too shy to offer, but he always has an insightful, intelligent point to make. She gives Harry audiobooks, too, old casette tapes that Harry will sit in his mom’s car and listen to for hours.

Harry always takes care of it that he’s in school early, so he can avoid the hordes of students pushing through the hallways. He hates it when he arrives when the school’s already packed with kids, running around and yelling. Harry dreads the noise, it makes him antsy and uncertain. When there are too many voices and sounds at the same time, it makes it nearly impossible for him to make out his surroundings and to keep track of what is happening, because everything keeps moving and Harry can’t keep up.

His mom dropped him off a couple of minutes ago and he’s sitting in the back of a very empty biology class. The ticking of the clock is annoying him, but it’s the only thing prickling his senses so he can’t shut it out. Even though he has no clue what seeing really is, he wonders if he would be able to ignore the repetitive ticking noise if he could look at the room around him. Hoping to distract himself from the sound, Harry inhales deeply through his nose, but all he gets is a dusty, chalky smell. He sighs then, realizing this is going to be another awful, hopefully uneventful day in school. Putting his head down on his arms, he closes his eyes for a bit - it’s a strange thing that he keeps them open, really, he doesn’t really know why he does it, but his mother says his eyes are beautiful and it looks rather strange for a person to walk around with their eyes closed, apparently. As if he’s a normal person in the first place. His eyes are green. Grass is green. In spring, the leaves on the trees are green. Numerous people have told him about the colours, and what they look like, but he can’t imagine them, doesn’t understand how water is blue but also see-through, doesn’t get how clouds and snow can be the same colour.

Harry is pulled out of his thoughts when a voice at the door mutters “Oh, well, wonderful…”. It’s Holly. All Harry knows about her is that she taps her nails on her desk when she’s bored in class - which is always - and that her dad drops her of early sometimes if he has the morning shift at the hospital.

Harry can hear her approach and sit down in the seat next to him.

“Looks like it’s just you and me, Curly.” she says.

Harry doesn’t know how to react - is she teasing him, with the nickname? Is she trying to be friendly? Why is she even sitting next to him in the first place? Harry’s heartrate picks up just a little, it makes him nervous that he can’t evaluate what she said.

“You know, Harry,” she speaks again, “you might actually make friends if you talk to people.”

And that’s that, she stands up, and sits down somewhere about two or three rows in front of Harry.

Harry sits and tries to catch his breath, stave off the near panic attack that started the moment she sat down next to him. He considers what she said and wonders for the thousandth time why he can’t just talk to people and make friends. He knows, of course, that he has “social anxiety” but what does that even mean? Is he diagnosed with a lifetime of loneliness? Prescribed a pill that will isolate him every day for the rest of his life? Maybe his eyes don’t work, but his tongue certainly ought to. 

His new attitude lasts until first period. Someone bumps into him in the hall and he smiles warmly in their general direction.

“What do you want?” A deep, husky voice demands.

Harry, unable to identify the voice or the hairy arm accompanying it, hurries off to class. He gets shuffled around the locker room per usual, everyone ramming their bodies into his as they pass but never so much as noticing him. He feels the whoosh of air around him as the door swings closed and thinks that he’s more part of the air than part of the student body. He floats and drifts around, hearing everything but never heard, never seen or noticed. Just there. 

It’s a relief when Harry finally sits down in the passenger’s seat of his mum’s car. It smells of her perfume and it feels familiar, safe. He doesn’t have to worry because he knows exactly how this small space is organized, so he can breathe.

“Hey, sweetie.” his mum greets, pinching his knee, like she always does.

“Hi, mum.” he answers, putting his head back against the seat, closing his eyes.

His mother doesn’t ask how school was. It’s sort of a silent agreement between them; Harry doesn’t want to lie and say that his day was great, and Anne doesn’t want to hear how her son would rather be anywhere else than school. She knows it, she doesn’t need it to be confirmed every day though.

It’s therapy day today, which means they’re heading for an office just at the edge of Manchester. Therapy doesn’t really help Harry make any kind of progress, it doesn’t help him make friends, it doesn’t make his days easier. The whole goal of therapy, Harry thinks, is to get to the root of the problem, and start from there. The thing is, the root of the problem is Harry’s blindness, and he doesn’t see that coming to an end anytime soon. Either way, all therapy does is stop him from going backwards, from having actual panic attacks in school, from falling into complete silence. Harry just talks about what he does, and what other people do, and how he feels about it. He talks about music sometimes, or about the audiobooks his teacher gives him, or about his weekly phonecalls with Gemma.

So therapy doesn’t help, really. It keeps him from falling apart but mostly it placates his mother. It does her good to see Harry open up and speak to someone, and so mostly Harry goes to please her. He doesn’t dislike it, he just feels…stuck. Like he’s trapped, in a routine that’s getting him nowhere but back to the same place over and over and over again. He tells his therapist that, one day, and she assures him that he has a bright and happy future ahead of him. Harry isn’t hoping for a bright and happy future though, he’s merely hoping for any kind of change.

It’s the same thing, that Monday. His therapist, Dr. Calhoun - “call me Tabitha, Harry” - asks him the same questions and Harry gives her the same answers. He feels like he’s on repeat, like he’s one of those audiobooks that you can rewind and play over and over again until you’re sick of hearing it. But it’s his therapist’s job to not get sick of what he’s saying, so he talks until he’s tired of hearing his own voice. Tabitha always knows when Harry’s had enough, and Harry hears her pen drop on her notebook, hears her chair roll back. She walks around her desk and Harry stands up, shakes her hand, too uncomfortable to hug her.

“That’s it for today, Harry. Can I ask one last thing, though?”

Harry nods in the general direction of her voice.

“An intern will be coming to my office for a couple of weeks. He’s a psych student and attending therapy sessions could help him a lot.” she explains, “Would you mind if he joined us?”

Harry’s hesitant. He doesn’t really feel happy to have a complete stranger listen to him nag about his day. “Is he… Is he like, going to ask me stuff too?”

“No,” Tabitha answers, “Well, not unless you want him to. He’ll be completely silent.”

Harry considers that for a second. He could use the change, but he’s still a little reluctant to let a complete stranger judge his mental health.

“He studies psychology, Harry,” Tabitha says soothingly when Harry stays silent, “he’s not going to judge you. He knows what he’s doing.”

Harry sighs, and nods. “Yeah, sure, okay. What’s uh, what’s his name?”

“His name is Louis. Louis Tomlinson, if I remember right.”

Harry likes that name. It sounds like a French king.

“Okay,” Harry says again, “I’ll see you next week then.”

“And Louis, too.” he adds as an afterthought, and then he’s out of the door.


	3. Chapter Two

“Niall.”

Louis shoves at his shoulder rather roughly, but that’s simply what it takes to wake up Niall Horan.

“No.” Niall groans into his pillow.

Louis stomps Niall’s arm, which earns him another groan.

“Get up, you’ve got class, little shit.” Louis says sternly while he keeps pushing at his mate’s shoulder until he rolls over and opens his eyes. “There we go.” He says, more cheerfully this time.

“I hate you.” Niall says, scowling.

“Just thinking about your education, love. You can thank me in a couple of years.” Louis sniffles his nose for a bit. “Get in the shower. You smell.”

Louis gets up then, follows the delicious smell of pancakes being made in their tiny kitchen. Louis is damn lucky Zayn can cook; he’d basically set the kitchen on fire himself if he even touched the stove.

“You’re an asshole.” Comes Niall’s call from the bathroom, and Louis chuckles to himself.

Zayn gives him a short smile when he walks into the kitchen, and then goes back to making pancakes. There’s a steaming cup of tea waiting for Louis on the table, and the paper is next to it.

“I’m a spoiled child.” Louis remarks, smiling.

Zayn turns around briefly. “Only the best for you.”

“I’d almost think you play for my team, Malik.” Louis comments, just barely avoiding Zayn’s swat with the spatula.

“I’m as straight as they come.”Zayn smirks, flipping over a pancake.

“Says the guy who spends an hour on his hair in the morning.”

Zayn doesn’t comment on that, so Louis sits down at the table. He takes a sip of his tea, but it’s still a tiny bit too hot, so he puts down his head on his arms instead. He feels a bit drained, even though he had plenty of sleep, and he heaves out a deep sigh.

“What’s up with you? Tired?” Zayn asks, setting down the plate of pancakes in the middle of the table.

Looking up at him, Louis shrugs. “I’m not tired. I don’t really feel like going to class today, that’s all.”

“I thought you loved your classes.”

Louis shrugs again. “Yeah I do, it’s just… I’m not made for sitting in class all day, listening to theory after theory. Not that it’s not interesting, because it is, but I wanna do something with it, you know?”

Zayn opens his mouth to say something, but then Niall plops down in the seat next to Louis and shovels three pancakes on his plate, drizzling syrup all over them.

“Mate.” Zayn says, staring at Niall’s plate.

“What?” Niall asks, eyes wide and innocent, “This fucker here woke me up way too early, I need some energy or I might die before the day ends.”

Niall shrugs then and starts eating, Zayn and Louis following his lead, deciding not to comment on Niall’s eating behaviour. They eat in silence, because it’s too early for any kind of sensible conversation. Louis finishes his tea while Niall eats the leftovers off of all the plates, and Zayn gets up to get his keys.

“Anyone need a ride?” He asks, putting on his jacket.

“Shotgun!” Niall exclaims immediately.

Louis rolls his eyes and nods, following his friends out of the apartment.

__

 

Louis is getting listless, and he doesn’t even know why. He knows something is missing in his life, but he can never quite figure out what it is.

“Easy.” His psych professor tells him when he finally asks for advice. “You’re restless. You want to help someone. You want to be a shoulder to cry on, a listener for someone who needs an ear or open arms for someone who needs a hug. You want to figure out a person and know them inside and out. You need a hobby, Mr. Tomlinson, and I have a good idea as to what that should be.”

A week later, Louis finds himself sitting next to Professor James in what appears to be some kind of dressed up doctor’s office. It’s clearly an office, there are people at a front desk answering phones and teenagers slumped in chairs around Louis, but it feels more homey than your average doctor’s. It has olive green walls and a plush purple and green carpet. It boasts elaborate light fixtures and comfy, cushy sofas which a tired and slightly hungover Louis greatly appreciates. Furthermore, everyone else in the room is in jeans and tee shirts. Louis is the only one in dress pants and a crisp button down. 

“Thomas!”

A petite blonde woman appears from one of the rooms and throws her arms around Professor James.

“Tabitha, it’s good to see you!” James replies amicably while Louis looks awkwardly around him and tries not to pay them much attention. “Oh, how rude of me! You must be the infamous Mr. Tomlinson, I’m Dr. Calhoun, welcome! So you’re interested in being an intern here?”

Louis looks startled. This is the first he’s heard of any kind of internship. He lets the possibility weigh in his mind. He has his hands full already, with traveling to see his family and maintaining his grades and keeping care of the house because Zayn and Niall can never be bothered to clean up after themselves - not that Louis is anything close to neat and tidy, because he isn’t in the slightest, but someone has to do the wash every now and again. But on the other hand, Professor James is right. He needs a new mystery, someone complex to figure out and get to know. And this is his dream job. “Yes.”

He smiles, and his teacher gives him a proud pat on the back.

“You won’t regret it”.

—

When Louis leaves the therapists office that afternoon, he’s knackered. The doctor allowed him to sit in on two sessions, and it was far more emotionally draining than he had ever anticipated. He had to listen to children, as young as ten, who struggled with so much, and react professionally yet just compassionately enough. 

He met an eleven year old girl who had a life-threatening eating disorder. She was rail thin and wouldn’t take the apple Louis offered her, and she started crying the moment the doctor entered the room. As an older brother of four girls near that age, it was hard to sit there and listen. He wonders if his own sisters have things they wouldn’t tell him and realizes that they probably do. Everyone has their demons.

It’s the second person he met that day who really made an impression on him. He was a teenager, maybe sixteen, with thin scars like spiderwebs decorating his wrists. He was jumpy and nervous, but somehow shockingly overlookable. It was as if the boy was transparent. He was bullied in school. The doctor listened carefully and prescribed a medication to combat depression. He gave Louis an uneasy stare, thanked the doctor and rushed out of the room, the pink slip clutched tight in his alabaster hand. 

When Zayn comes to pick him up, since he’s driven there with his teacher, Louis is exhausted.

“Are you okay, Lou?” Zayn pouts in concern.

A few yards away, Louis hears another car door slam, and the sound makes him flinch. A blue minivan rolls past, with a different teenager in the passenger seat. Louis climbs into Zayn’s car.

“I’m alright, just tired.” He smiles softly.

“Let’s grab some coffee on the way home.” Zayn suggests.

“Sounds good to me.” Louis grins, kicking his feet up on the dashboard.

“I’ve told you to keep your smelly feet off my dash.” Zayn chastises, and Louis rolls his eyes.

“Yes, mum.” He grumbles and sits up properly.

In truth, he doesn’t mind Zayn’s more maternal behaviour. It’s cute, sometimes, when he’d cooks for them or does their laundry. Not so cute when he yells at Louis to clean his room when Louis can take care of himself thankyouverymuch.

“Starbucks or Nick’s, babe?” Zayn asks, his eyes never leaving the road.

Louis laughs brightly and flips on the radio.

“Do you have to ask?”

After Louis’ raucous behaviour one afternoon in a Starbucks, a few Baristas dragged him out against his will and, well, Louis isn’t allowed in Starbucks anymore. He vaguely recalls hanging from light fixtures, but the rest was a blur. Zayn clucks fondly, rolling his eyes a bit at Louis, which prompts a playful smack from the older boy.

“It isn’t my-“

“fault? Of course it is.” Zayn laughs. “Who would you like to blame for your getting thrown out of Starbucks?” He teases.

Louis mumbles something that sounds an awful lot like “the Baristas” and Zayn parks outside of Nick’s. 

It’s a small and homey coffees hop, with fake leather couches and a warm smell that hangs thick in the air. The coffee itself is mediocre at best, but the scones are incredible, it plays a nice compilation of indie songs rather than elevator music, and it isn’t so crowded with younger teenagers. In fact, there are more fascinating people in Nick’s Coffee Shop than anywhere Louis has ever seen.

For one, Nick himself is rather eclectic. He has a preference for 70’s style clothing and jeans far too skinny to be worn by a man. His hair is always elegantly styled into a tall quiff, which Zayn, Louis is certain, admires him for. He likes trousers that are too short and shirts that are too long and buttoned down the middle and have strange patterns, and silly hats and outrageous shoes. Louis likes Nick, most of the time. He is loud and rambunctious but not in a bad way. Nick could make friends with a lamp post. 

Then there are the baristas; Nick won’t hire anyone less weird than he himself is. So his employees range from a punk rocker no younger than 40, who’s vaguely wrinkled skin still manages to make his colorful tattoos look exciting and vibrant, to an introverted teenage girl, whose long, sharp fingernails constantly click away at the cash register. She wears far too many rings and bracelets and has piercings all over, but Louis likes her, too. His favorite barista though, is Johnny. Johnny makes the best coffee of any of the workers but that isn’t why Louis likes him. Louis likes Johnny for his bright and colorful eyeliner, his glittery painted nails, and the skirts he has grown attached to wearing. Johnny is loud and vivacious and his shift is always the best time to go to Nick’s.

Luckily, when they walk in, pink sparkly fingernails rap against the counter and a flowy, sunflower yellow skirt bounces around behind it while Johnny busies himself making drinks for a customer. The kid looks confused and startled and Louis laughs. He’d seen that reaction to Johnny before, he was a lot to take in. 

It’s only after Louis gets his drink, and the kid gets up to leave, that Louis noticies why the pretty boy looks so confused. The boy’s knuckles are white as he grips the stick in his hand tightly, and the stick taps along in front of him as he walks. He moves like water, gliding through the open door and climbing into a car without once turning his head to look at anything. He’s blind. 

“Louis.”

Louis’s head snaps up at hearing someone calling his name, and he’s reminded that he’s here with Zayn. Right. Zayn is staring at him with a questioning look.

“What?” Louis asks.

“I was asking what it was like. At the therapist, I mean. Are you sure you got enough sleep?”

“Yes!” Louis answers, “And I don’t know… It was like, heavy, I guess? Like it’s just confronting to know that the things I’m taught in class aren’t just theories in books, they’re actual things that happen to real people. It kind of hurts if you think about it, how many people struggle, how many people have obstacles that limit them.”

Louis finds himself thinking of the blind boy again, wonders if he feels limited too, or if he’s at peace with it. Closing his eyes, he focuses solely on the sounds and smells around him. He doesn’t like it; it’s confusing because all the voices and sounds mix together into one and he can’t locate anyone. It makes him a little nervous and antsy so he opens his eyes again, finding Zayn looking at him with a confused look on his face.

“Uhm… Are you okay, man?” Zayn inquires slowly, frowning.

“Yeah!” Louis replies, “I was just… There was a blind boy here a minute ago, I don’t know if you saw him? Like… I wonder what it feels like? I’d be so… angry, I think. Because it’s unfair, you know? Everyone has this one thing that you can’t have.”

Zayn thinks about that for a second, and shrugs. “Don’t you think you get used to it, though? I heard that their other senses are much better, so they make up for it? Like their hearing is really good and stuff.”

“I’m sure you get used to it; but…” Louis sighs, pushes his hair out of his face before he continues. “It’s confronting I think, because you’re always around people who can see? And I think that when you meet new people, they take pity on you. Like the only thing they see about you is your blindness, and they treat you like you’re limited? I think that sucks. Being treated like you’re missing something. I think people automatically would treat you as if you’re a child.”

“Look, I’m sure it would be awful, but you’ve got two functional eyes and you don’t know that kid. Don’t you think you’re kind of pitying him right now?” Zayn challenges, raising one eyebrow. 

“I suppose.” Louis shrugs. “Well, it’s no matter. We’d best be getting home.”

He grabs his coffee and he and Zayn make their way to the car, parked behind the shop.

“Oi, where do you two lads think you’re going?” Nick hollers from the front door of the shop.

“Nick!” Louis runs over to hug his friend, with Zayn following close behind.

“Leaving without even saying goodbye, tut tut.” Nick teases.

Louis rolls his eyes fondly, thinking that Nick might be the most extroverted person he’s ever met. 

“You and Harry, both in one day.” Nick says, a fond look in his eyes.

“Harry?” Louis cocks his head to the side. He’s never met Harry, and he knows the majority of Nick’s strange friends.

“’Bout sixteen, curly hair, he usually says hi to me when he stops in. Johnny said he was here, but he got all flustered over something and left without saying hello to me”.

 

Louis considers for a moment. How many curly haired sixteen-year-olds could visit Nick’s shop in one day?

“This-uh, this Harry…is he by any chance blind?”

Nick laughs and nods. “Yessir.” Nick grins. “Doesn’t seem too upset about it though, he’s a lovely chap.”

Zayn gives Louis a little nudge. “See? I told you.” He teases and Louis kisses his nose just because. “You’re always right.” Louis sighs in defeat and Zayn slings an arm about his shoulder. 

Vaguely, Louis finds himself wondering what had Harry so flustered. Perhaps he had somewhere important to go. Pathetic as it was, that’s what Louis does for most of that evening: wonders about Harry. His dreams are filled with bouncy curls and clouded mossy eyes and a shiny metal walking stick that goes “tap tap tap” to the beat of Louis’ heart.


	4. Chapter Three

Louis gets a call from Tabitha a couple of days later. She tells him she checked both of their schedules, to see which of her therapy sessions fit in the best with Louis’s classes. It’s best if he comes by ever Monday afternoon for a couple of hours, she says, since he only has class from 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. that day. He’s supposed to come by after his lunch, she’ll give him some background information on her patients first, and then he’ll be allowed to watch three sessions, if her patients agree. Louis thanks her for making time for him in her schedule before hanging up. He knows that this will not affect his grade directly; he’s not getting extra credit for this, but it will help him understand what he’s learning a lot better and use it in an active way. Louis – never the kind of person to just sit down with a book and study – is so grateful for that. It will make studying so much easier for him.

He leaves his morning class in a hurry, worried that he’ll be late to his first day. He waves goodbye to Zayn and Niall, heading for his car. It takes him a minute to find his keys, as always, but he eventually finds them deep in his back pocket, buried under notes and dollar bills that are change from his morning coffee run.

He starts the car and drives slowly out of the campus; he’s been busted for speeding far too many times. He listens to a mix CD that Zayn made for him while he drove. They generally agree on music and Louis is vehemently anti-radio, and he refuses to invest in a line-in for his iPod, so Zayn makes him tapes to listen to. He stopps at a Subway to grab a sandwich and eats it on his way, spilling half of the vegetables on his car seat. It isn’t as if his car is clean in the first place, so it doesn’t really matter. Before he knows it, he is parked outside the office. He makes his way inside, shaking Dr. Calhoun’s hand firmly to show how professional he can be.

“Your first patient will be here in a moment, how about we go down to the office and get ready?” Dr. Calhoun smiles and Louis follows her, listening intently as they bustle through the halls. “Your first patient is a girl named Maria. She’s very sweet, but she does have temper tantrums sometimes, so you’ll have to be very careful not to say anything that could upset her.” she warns.

Louis gulps nervously. He’s brash and bold and has little filter. He isn’t sure precisely what would anger the girl and how to avoid saying those things; he’s accustomed to saying what he pleases. But Louis has a can-do attitude, so he gives a determined grin and nods as he holds the door to the office open.

“Alright, and who’s next?” he asks flippantly, taking a seat on a chair in the corner. Dr. Calhoun stands at her desk, rifling through papers.

“It’s a boy, Adam. He’s about…oh, I’d say seventeen, I’ve never asked him. Mind you, I don’t look much at their paperwork either. I don’t find that the things you can check off on a form are what’s important about you. His mother’s maiden name doesn’t help me get to know him.”

It’s possibly the most life-altering advice Louis has ever received. He realizes, as he considers it, that those check boxes are how he defines people, how everyone defines each other. Blue eyes, brown eyes, green eyes. Black, White, Hispanic, Asian, Other. Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, Atheist; none of it matters and yet he’s spent his whole life defining people that way.

“You’re right.” he whispers, in awe. Dr. Calhoun laughs, rolling her eyes fondly.

“Adam’s depressed.” she informs him. “He’s friendly though, such a bright kid.” She smiles fondly. “You’ll like him.” she promises and Louis smiles.

“And then?”

Dr. Calhoun smiles then, a tiny sigh escaping her lips.

“Next, is Harry.” she says.

The name seems to ring a bell in Louis’s mind, maybe he’s heard it recently, but he can’t quite put his finger on the memory. Dr. Calhound seems to think for a bit, as if it is difficult to explain why Harry comes here.

“Harry isn’t really… depressed or any of those things. He just struggles, you know?” She waits for a bit, and Louis nods to signal that he’s still listening. “He doesn’t really have anyone to talk to besides his mum and dad, which makes his world pretty small. He doesn’t really have friends at school, and his social anxiety kind of prevents him from making any. His head just goes a hundred miles an hour, and he panicks, he needs to come here to sort it out for a bit, and then he’s good to go. Sometimes his sessions are heavy, because he feels limited. Sometimes he just talks about his day. He’s a smiler, if he likes you.”

That makes Louis a little nervous - what if this Harry-kid totally hates him and just scowls at him for an hour?

“Oh!” Dr. Calhoun gasps, “He’s blind, probably should tell you that. Has been his whole life.”

That’s when Louis remembers the curly-haired boy with the cane from the coffee shop last week, and he smiles, happy that he gets to see the boy again.

“Right.” Louis’ lips twitch up into a little smile as if he’s hiding a secret.

“What?” Dr. Calhoun demands, looking defensive. “He’s just an ordinary boy Louis, he manages to live quite well with his disability, I’ll have you-“

“No, it’s not that. I think I’ve met Harry before.” he smiles softly. He’s sure of it, at this point. He’ll know later, when a familiar looking metal rod taps its way into the room, but even now he’s certain that this Harry is his Harry, coffee shop Harry. 

“Oh. Well, that’s great. He knows you’re coming, so there shouldn’t be any surprises.” she smiles, looking relieved. Sometimes, it takes people a while to warm up to Harry. His awkward and introverted nature makes him seem cold and uncaring sometimes when, in truth, he bears a heart more full of love for the world around him than anyone Tabitha has ever met. 

 

The first session makes Louis really nervous. He doesn’t say a word, scared that Maria will snap at him. The minute she walks through the door, she glares at Louis, making it clear that she doesn’t want him judging her mental health.

“You agreed to this, Maria.” Dr. Calhoun warns her.

“Doesn’t mean I like it.” she mumbles, sitting down.

Maria has an aggression problem, Louis learns. It’s difficult for her to contain her emotions and she lashes out at other people if it gets too much. On rare occasions, it even gets physical rather than verbal. Apparently, she’s the third of seven children and she lives in a very busy household. She shares her room with one of her sisters, so she never really has any time for herself. When she’s done with homework, she has to help her parents take care of the younger children, and then she goes to bed. Therapy is a way for Maria to focus on herself, Louis figures out. This way, she can let out her anger and sadness and everything else she bottles up when she’s taking care of others, without taking it out on other people at school or at home.

 

Adam comes next. He trudges slowly into the room, a rectangular object bulging the pocket of his skinny jeans and Louis belatedly realizes it must be a pack of cigarettes. He looks skittish, but too tired to run. It’s an odd combination, but it somehow suits him. He’s smaller even than Maria was, in spite of being older and male. He’s rail thin and muscular, almost wiry. 

When he sits down on the sofa, he eyes Louis like he’s a predator and hunches his shoulders. A little smirk pulls at the corners of his lips though, and Louis can tell Adam’s not a bad kid.

“Frankie’s anniversary was yesterday.” Adam blurts and Dr. Calhoun seems to know who and what this means, but Louis sure as hell doesn’t.

Adam seems to realize this, too, because he gives Louis a bitter smile and deadpans. “Frankie was my little brother. He died two years ago, cancer.” he explains.

__

Harry scrunches up his face when his mum gives him a wet kiss on the cheek. He rubs over the skin when she pulls away, feeling it heat up a little under his fingers.

“Bye sweetie.” she hums, and Harry feels the pressure of her fingers on his knee where she pinches it. It used to be a reassurance, but now it’s just a habit, really. Whenever Harry gets in or out of the car, she greets him with that little touch.

“Bye mum.” Harry says as he clambers out of the car, unfolding his cane and letting the end scrape over the uneven stone tiles of the parking lot. He seeks out the bumps carefully, letting the little thumps and vibrations in his hand indicate where he should watch his step. He waits for the sliding sound of the electric doors before he steps into the building, where he’s met with a smooth linoleum floor. His footsteps echo just a little in the hallway, and he counts them until he knows he’s standing in the waiting room of Dr. Calhoun’s office.

“You can go right through, Harry.” the voice of her assistant comes from his right. Too uncomfortable to use his voice, Harry just nods as a thank you and takes 10 more steps until his hand closes around the cool metal of the doorknob.

“Hi, Harry.” Dr. Calhoun greets him as soon as the door shuts, “Have a seat.”

Harry knows exactly where the chair is located, so he folds his cane up and takes five steps, feels the wood of the backrest of the chair and sits down. He smiles as a greeting and puts his hands in his lap.

“Harry, you remember what I told you last week?” Dr. Calhoun asks, her voice warm and happy. Harry nods, still not using his voice. He feels the presence of a stranger in the room and it makes it a little harder to breathe, because he can’t locate or define it. He only knows that the presence goes by the name of Louis.

“Well, Harry. This is Louis. Louis, this is Harry.”

“Hey, Harry.” a gentle voice comes from behind doctor Calhoun, a little to the right. The voice is a little croaky, and it’s higher than Harry’s own. But he likes it, for some reason. It doesn’t sound threatening or judging. Harry feels the hand around his lungs let go a little.

“Hi.” Harry breathes. Louis probably thinks that Harry can’t sense his nerves, but Harry hears the little sigh that escapes Louis’s lips and the way his feet keep shifting. Harry laughs inwardly at the irony; for once, he’s the one making other people nervous.

“I have to go talk about my schedule with my assistant for a couple of minutes.” Dr. Calhoun draws Harry’s attention again, “I seem to be double booked tomorrow. I’ll be right back.”

Her chair rolls back and Harry feels the air brush past him in a short breeze when she walks out of the door. He feels Louis’s eyes on him and shifts uncomfortably in his seat, praying that the boy will not try to strike up a conversation with him.

It’s then that Harry realizes that the only things he can locate are the door on his left, the desk in front of him, and Louis, a stranger. He’s never walked around this room, doesn’t know how big or small it is, what furniture is in it, how high the ceiling is. Harry feels his heart beating wildly in his chest and he starts wringing his hands in his lap, terrified of being in an unfamiliar room.

Harry eyes, which are usually uselessly open, clench shut with nervousness. His heart rate picks up and he breathes faster until he’s hyperventilating. It feels like he can’t take enough air into his lungs, like they’re too shallow to keep him alive. Just one more thing his body can’t do. He’s choking, he can feel it, but no sounds come out. His face turns red and his skin feels like a live wire, burning and stinging and he squirms, trying to crawl out of it, but he can’t. His stomach has risen now, resting in his throat and it’s clenching and unclenching nauseatingly.

He can feel the sweat on his forehead and he knows, knows from his mother’s accounts of his panic attacks, that this is all inside him. He knows that externally, he just looks “red”, whatever red means. Red is angry and hot and lava and roses. Red isn’t skin. But he feels hot all over and he feels like his stomach is trying to crawl out of his throat and he feels like he’s being squeezed into a tiny box and he feels like his body is on fire and he just feels, so much that it’s overwhelming and it hurts and he’s going to throw up, he knows he is, when he feels a warm, soft hand on his back, rubbing little circles.

It should be weird, because Louis is a stranger and he’s touching him even though Harry only lets his mom and a few close friends get that near to him, but somehow it just isn’t. Just from that simple touch, with no words exchanged at all, Harry’s lungs seem to unfold. He can breathe now, and so he does, deep and calming breaths until his heart rate slows to a normal pace as well. Then his stomach settles back into his abdomen and his skin only tingles a little and he’s nearly purring. No one has ever been able to make Harry feel like this. Nothing in the world calms him when he’s so worked up, so terrified, but somehow Louis did. And Harry knows, from that moment forward, that Louis is going to be something big in his life. He can’t help thinking that maybe one day he’ll wake up next to that smooth, melting honey voice. And he likes that thought.

“Okay?” Louis asks, and Harry can’t get enough of the way Louis’s voice seems to float through the air and fill the whole room. It’s kind of loud but ever so gentle at the same time, and Harry finds himself wondering if Louis himself is like that.

Harry nods. “Yeah, ‘m fine.” he mumbles, still a little short of breath. Louis’s hand leaves his back, and Harry feels a strange pang of regret.

“Did I…” Louis takes a shaky breath, still nervous, but he continues anyway. “Did I scare you?”

“No!” Harry replies immediately, and he’s surprised by the force of his own voice, usually quiet and unsure. “I mean it’s… It’s not that. I don’t like strangers; but… Wait no, it’s not that I don’t like you, don’t take it that way, it’s just…”

“Harry.” Louis interrupts his rambling. Harry stops, and he feels his cheeks flush. “You don’t have to explain. You don’t have to tell me anything.”

Relief washes over Harry when Louis doesn’t demand an explanation, but he feels like he should clarify anyway. For some reason, he wants to tell Louis what just happened and why. He feels so full of trust and he’s so relaxed that it should scare him since Louis is a complete stranger, but he can’t even feel scared when Louis is near him, it seems.

“I don’t know this room.” Harry breaks the short silence.

“What do you mean?” Louis says curiously. There’s no judgement or confusion in his voice, only genuine interest.

“I only know where the door is, and this chair, and the desk. And I know where you are. But don’t know the rest.”

“I can show you.” Louis proposes like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“What?”

“Here, take my hands.”

Harry, very timidly, slides his cool, soft palms into Louis’ warmer hands and holds tight to them. He stands with Louis’ help, and his lips twitch up into a smile. Everything is just so Louis. The older boy is all around him. The air traveling through Harry’s nose is thick with the delicious smell of his aftershave. Harry can’t help wondering what it would feel like to snuggle up to Louis and bury his face in that scent, just drinking it in. He reckons it would feel a lot like paradise. 

Louis guides him slowly towards the door, and then along the wall to the bookshelf. Harry holds onto him with one hand, the other hand tracing over the things on the walls. From the sandy film that now coated his fingertips and the filth flowing into his lungs, he guesses that there are dusty books filling the shelves. 

Harry tries to concentrate on the room, on the slightly pilly feeling of the wall brushing past under his fingertips and the smooth surface of the wooden desk where Dr. Calhoun sat and the cushiony softness of the chairs and the sofa, but all he can think about was the warmth and the gentle touch of Louis’ hand in his. 

__

Louis’ skin feels electric where Harry’s palm is pressed to his and he’s fascinated by the way his tan skin contrasts Harry’s milky white hand. It’s strange how his own hands are much smaller than Harry’s; he knows from the papers that Dr. Calhoun gave him earlier that Harry’s 17. Louis knows he’s not particularly tall, but it’s strange to stand next to someone who’s two years younger than yourself and still is taller. He wonders if Harry realizes that, if he can hear that Louis’ voice comes from a few inches below him.

He lets Harry feel around the entire room patiently, and the boy’s eyebrows knit together in concentration, like he’s drawing a map of the room in his head. Harry lets his fingers brush over every new texture twice, and he seeks out every corner and bump carefully with long, elegant fingers. After a couple of silent minutes, Harry lets his hand drop to his side and turns to Louis.

“Are you done?” Louis asks.

“Yeah.”

Louis makes to lead Harry back to his chair, but the boy shakes his head and lets go of Louis’ hand.

“Watch.” he says, and then he walks away, no clumsiness to be detected in his step, puts his hand on the back of his chair and sits down.

“Impressive.” Louis chuckles appraisingly, walking over to his own chair again and sitting down.

“Probably one of my only skills.” Harry smirks, slumping back in his chair a little bit.

“I’m sure there’s more.” Louis reassures, feeling his smile falter a little at Harry’s low appreciation of himself.

“We’ll see about that.”

It feels like ages before Dr. Calhoun comes back and Louis is getting antsy because, well, Harry isn’t talkative and while it isn’t an awkward silence, it certainly doesn’t feel like a comfortable one. There’s still a wall between them, because Harry is a patient and well, Louis isn’t a doctor yet, but he’s going to be. And Harry is in high school while Louis is already two years into university, and he’s seventeen to Louis’ nineteen and most importantly, Louis can see and Harry can’t.

Louis shuts his eyes for a moment because Harry can’t see him and he won’t get offended. He closes his eyes and tries to see with his other senses like Harry does, to be able to detect the other things in the room with his nose and ears, but he can’t. He can’t and he wonders how Harry does, because it doesn’t even feel possible.

Dr. Calhoun comes in and laughs when she sees Louis sitting there with his eyes shut. It automatically sets Harry on edge because why are they laughing? It’s a constant paralyzing fear, when he gets into these more social situations, that every giggle is directed at him, is taken at his expense. Louis frowns at Harry’s expression and grabs his hand reassuringly, which startles Harry and, at the same time, relaxes him.

“Why don’t we get started?” Dr. Calhoun smiles broadly, and Louis can’t help but smile too.


	5. Chapter four

"So, Harry."

Dr. Calhoun settles into her chair, and Louis can tell the meeting has begun. He leans back a little and the old, rickety chair creaks loudly. Harry giggles at the sound, and Louis grins at the bubbly, warm sound of his laugh. It’s gravely in just the right way, like water running over rocks, and it makes Louis smile. Everything about Harry seems to have that effect on him, really. 

Harry Styles radiates happiness. Not in the sense that he’s always happy himself, because he isn’t. If he was, Louis wouldn’t be sitting opposite him right now. No, Harry spreads happiness rather than consuming it. He longs for the people around him to feel it, before he even considers trying for his own benefit to be happy. It makes Louis like him that much more, the way he’s constantly trying to bring a smile to someone’s face even when his own is set into a frown. 

"How has school been recently?" the woman beside him asks gently, snapping Louis back to the present.

He listens intently, periodically making notes. Everything with Harry is physical. For instance, Harry can’t see when his doctor smiles reassuringly at him, so she pats him on the knee gently instead. Harry never startles at the touch. It’s familiar and safe, and Louis can tell that he isn’t concerned by it. 

"It’s been alright." Harry explains slowly.

He speaks slowly in general, Louis notices. Not in a way that makes it seem he’s stumbling over his words. More in the sense that he’s weighing each word in his mind before he says it, as though he needs to describe everything in the best possible way.

“It doesn’t feel like I fit in.” he finally explains. “It’s as if they don’t see me, because I can’t see them. And that kind of stings, you know? They could walk right through me and never see me. It’s lonely.” he admits. It’s the weakest Louis has seen him look.

"I see." Dr. Calhoun nods, but there’s a deep sadness in her eyes, stronger than pity.

If only Harry could see that, could see how much she cared about him. Louis wondered if that might make him feel less alone.

"Have you tried making yourself noticed to them?" Louis offers, glancing quickly at Dr. Calhoun to make sure it’s alright for him to talk.

The way Harry’s body stiffens, the brief pause he takes before he settles in to think about an answer, tells Louis it isn’t a question worth asking. In fact, it’s clearly one Harry has a scripted answer for. But for whatever reason, he’s thrown away his script. He’s trying, for Louis’ sake, to come up with a genuine answer. 

"I guess I’m scared, you know?" Harry admits after a lengthy stretch of silence. “I mean, if I never put myself out there, I never give them the opportunity not to like me. But if I make myself noticed and they don’t like me, then I can’t pretend or blame them anymore. Then, I’m the one with the problem. I guess I just can’t deal with one more way that I’m not good enough." he explains carefully, a nervous expression pulling at his features. 

Louis automatically reacts, softly and reassuringly rubbing Harry’s shoulder.

“You are good enough.” he promises first, because he can’t bear to see this amazing boy, this beautiful creature sink into the depths of self hatred.. “I know they’d love you if they only knew you. You should give them a chance.” He urges.

Harry tenses a little, before smirking rather cheekily.

“You sound like my mum.” he giggles and Louis smiles. “‘Everyone who gets to meet the real you just loves you, Harry!’” the boy mimicks, and Louis laughs.

"It’s true!" Louis protests.

Harry raises one eyebrow and Louis figures Harry would be rolling his eyes if…well, if they were functional.

“So you love me then?” Harry challenges.

Dr. Calhoun, who had been watching with a slightly irritated smile, now scowls unappreciatively at Louis.

“This is counterproductive, we should talk about important things.” she insists, saving Louis from what could have been an awkward situation.

Unfortunately for her, Louis despises being saved. Fueled on by annoyance with Dr. Calhoun, he quips cheekily “I dunno if I love you yet. Maybe you’ll have to join be for coffee first, so I can get to know the real you”.

A blush creeps up Harry’s cheeks and he sits back, so Louis’ hand falls off of his shoulder.

“I don’t like coffee.” The words are a bit rushed, Harry speaking a little quicker than usual. His hand fold and unfold in his lap, and Louis wants to take back what he said immediately.

“Tea then?” he tries, keeping his distance from Harry, not wanting to startle him further, and not wanting to actually make dr. Calhoun mad.

“Yeah, maybe.” Harry says softly, and Louis figures that that’s the end of the conversation.

—-

Harry can feel a thin layer of sweat on his palms and he feels slightly on edge. He’s far from having another panic attack, just a little uncomfortable with the situation.

These are the times at which he absolutely detests his inability to see, because he can’t tell whether or not Louis’s request was genuine. Was he joking? Or did he really want to get coffee with Harry?

Harry doesn’t know, can’t see the expression on Louis’ features: a genuine smile? A look that obviously says Louis didn’t mean it, that he was just keeping the conversation going?

“Alright, we should continue.” dr. Calhoun breaks the tense silence, “How’s life been at home, Harry?”

Harry stays quiet for another second, takes a deep breath and answers the question, trying to keep the insecurity out of his voice. “It’s the same as usual, really. My mum driving me around, Gemma calling once a week.”

“Do you find it boring?” dr. Calhoun asks.

Harry shrugs. “It’s just, routine, you know? And yeah it can be boring, but it’s not as if I can just leave break the routine, leave the house, and do something crazy. And I’m not going to go to my mum whining about how I’m bored, she does everything for me so that would be kind of ungrateful. I just wish I had someone to talk to outside of my family, you know, someone who I trust so they can take me places and stuff.”

“Has Liam called recently?”

Harry nods. “He called last week. Told me he got in trouble because he got caught in the girl’s dorms past curfew. He was visiting his friend, Danielle.” He says friend in a mocking tone, because he could hear how smitten with her Liam was. “I could practically feel him blushing through the phone.”

“You miss him a lot, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Harry answers sadly, “I wish I could meet someone new who is just as open minded and kind as Liam is, so I could go see them and leave the house and have someone to talk to. It gets awfully quiet when I’m alone, and I don’t like that because it makes me feel like I’m not only blind, but also deaf.”

Harry hears Louis shift a little in his chair, letting out a soft sigh. Harry knows what Louis is feeling, doesn’t need his sight for that. Louis feels sorry for him. But Harry doesn’t need pity or sympathy. What Harry needs is a friend.

And all of a sudden it hits him so hard how completely alone he is. And not just that, there’s people who genuinely enjoy being alone, but Harry doesn’t. Harry isn’t just alone, he’s lonely. And it’s not a choice, it’s a curse. There’s one thing Harry can’t do, and it has stopped him from doing so many other things. In that moment, Harry realizes how out of reach everything is. Harry can’t play sports and he can’t go skateboarding with friends like all the other guys do and he can’t even tell a girl she looks pretty and he can’t make friends and he can’t see.

“I’m done for this week.” Harry says past the lump in his throat and he stands up, listening to the familiar footsteps come around the desk. He gets up and shakes dr. Calhoun’s hand, and then all of a sudden there’s a warmer, softer hand in his. He didn’t even notice Louis getting up and coming closer, even though he’s been hyper-aware of his presence ever since he entered the room.

Harry mumbles a goodbye, unfolds his cane with shaky hands, and walks out the door. 

Harry pulls his jacket tighter around his shoulders with his free hand, the other one tightly clutching the metal cane. He clings tightly to the familiar smooth surface, his teeth sinking into the tender skin of his lower lip. As he climbs into his mom’s car, he curls himself into a little ball, burying his face in his knees. “How was it, love?” Anne asks gently, for she can tell that something is off. 

"Alright" Harry mumbles, too overwhelmed to begin to explain. On one hand, he can’t help wallowing in loneliness. He considers how most kids his age have scores of friends, hundreds of numbers in their phones to call and people to hang out with. Harry’s contacts hold Liam, his mother, Gemma, his grandparents, and Dr. Calhoun’s emergency number. While most kids spend their weekends at the mall or out partying, Harry’s perfect weekend consists solely of reading. New books are a treat, because of how few braille novels the library supplies. Although Anne is less than a meter away, Harry’s never felt more alone. He has absolutely no one to turn to, no friends and very little family, all because of a condition he didn’t ask for and can’t help.

But the other part of his brain is whirring, filling itself with Louis. The boy is truly a light in Harry’s life after only one session. Sure, he’s confusing as hell. And as much as Harry wants to believe that Louis would like to go out with him, he’s sure Louis was only being polite. And maybe he’s not the most tactful individual. But he makes Harry smile, and laugh, when no one else has ever been able to. He makes Harry feel like he matters, which he hasn’t felt in a very, very long time. With Louis, Harry feels important. Like someone would miss him if he were to just disappear. It makes him want to disappear just a little bit less. 

Louis drums his fingers on the steering wheel of his rackety, old car. His head’s pounding with a thousand thoughts and feelings at the same time, green eyes and brown curls and sadness and loneliness and pity.The problem is that Louis is easily moved by what other people feel, he can’t stand the thought of someone being unhappy, when he is unable to fix it. Because he wants to, he really wants to fix this for Harry.

Maybe Louis can’t fix his eyes, he can’t make Harry see, but he wants to make the boy feel less lonely and trapped inside himself and inside his own home. Remembering Harry telling dr. Calhoun that all he really wanted was a friend, someone to talk to, someone to take him out, to make him smile, Louis sighs, wondering if he can be that friend. Harry didn’t seem to want to go for coffee - or tea, whatever - with him. It was like something scared him, like he wasn’t sure if he could say yes to Louis’s request. Confusing is what it is, really, because one minute he was leading Harry around the room, holding his hand, and the boy was smiling at him so brightly, but then fifteen minutes later it was like his face clouded over with concern and insecurity and sadness.

It’s not as if Louis expected Harry to be perfectly happy, he wouldn’t be in therapy if he was, but he feels desperate because it’s like he can’t make Harry realize how amazing he truely is. He’s soft, and gentle, and very loving - Louis could tell from the way he spoke about his family and about his friend, Liam. Harry seemed to truely admire Liam, as if he was amazed that he would want to be friends with someone like Harry. Anyone should want to be friends with him, Louis thinks, for it is the most amazing thing in the world to make the boy smile, to feel like you lifted a heavy weight off of his shoulders for just one minute.

Louis really just wants to make him feel free and special and important all the time.

Harry half-listens to his mum chattering on and on as they pull up to the house. She helps him out of the car, and he brings his books inside. “I’ll call you down when dinner’s ready, alright love?” She smiles, kissing the top of his head. “Alright” Harry replies easily, with a small smile. His head is in the clouds-he can’t get Louis off his mind. Anne simply rolls her eyes fondly and sends Harry to his room. 

They moved when he was little, and because stairs can be tricky to navigate without sight, their new house is all one floor. He makes is way down the hall to his room and sits at his desk, pulling out his books. One of the perks of being blind is that his teachers are typically too intimidated to really care if he doesn’t do his coursework, but he usually does it anyway. 

Today though, his fingers run over the familiar bumps, raised dots on the page that ordinarily fascinate him, again and again. The dots are meaningless, he can’t focus enough attention on them to bother caring what they say. All he can think of is soft, warm hands and bright, bubbly laughter. All he can think of is the boy who makes him feel less alone.


	6. Chapter five

Harry can barely wait for his next session. The week seems to drag by painfully slowly, and by the time Tuesday rolls around, he’s itching to see Louis again. He doesn’t know precisely what it is about the boy that so captivated him. All he knows is that he can’t stop thinking about that bright, bubbly laugh. He can’t get Louis out of his head.

For his part, Louis is almost as excited to see Harry. Perhaps he is a bit more distracted than Harry is, what with unbelievable amounts of coursework and his ridiculous friends always causing new dramas, so he has less time to dwell on it, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t equally enamored. When his eyes slip shut at night, he is reminded of cherubic pink cheeks and slow, raspy answers and green eyes, misted over with the disability that plagues the boy’s every waking moment. He thinks of soft hands and loneliness and feels that same pull to help every time Harry Styles crosses his mind.

Louis has been at the clinic for a number of hours before Harry, his last patient, shows up. Doctor Calhoun allows Louis to be more involved this time, trusting him more and more with each meeting. He sees the usuals again: Maria, who sits on the edge of her seat with knuckles clenched the entire time, as Dr. Calhoun instructs her to take deep breaths and calmly explain what has her so frustrated. It’s Louis who leads her through the exercise of taking out her anger on a fluffy pillow that decorates the bench. He sees Adam again, as well, who seems considerably cheerier, and that pleases both Louis and Dr. Calhoun to no end. He leaves with the first smile Louis has ever seen him wear, and Louis marks that as a triumph.

His heart starts racing when he hears that telltale “click-click-click” coming down the hall. The sound, like Harry, is irregular, staccato, clumsy and offbeat in the most endearing way.

Louis can just feel Harry’s more confident than he was last week the minute the boy enters the room. Last time Harry had been looking for an unfamiliar presence, someone new that was so unpredictable it made him panic as soon as it was just the two of them in the room.

But now he slides over to his chair smoothly, his disability only indicated by the walking stick in his hands and the fact that his green eyes aren’t focused on the object he’s approaching.

A strange itch runs to Louis’ skin, like he wants to reach out and touch Harry, make his presence known, or maybe just for the sake of feeling Harry’s skin on his. Louis has been thinking about Harry so much over the past week that it almost seemed like Harry wasn’t even a real person, like he made up this beautiful boy with a disability in his mind and fell completely in love with his fantasy. But now Harry’s here, and he’s real, and Louis just wants to be so much closer to him.

Instead, he just gives Harry a thousand-watt smile. And maybe Harry can’t see the way Louis’ face illuminates when he walks into the room, but he can hear it in Louis’ voice when he greets him, and it confuses him a little. Excluding of his mum, who does not count although he loves her dearly, there is not a single person in Harry’s life who has ever seemed so excited to see him. Giddy and eager and perhaps a bit bolder than usual, Harry leans forward in his seat and grabs for Louis’ hand. His hand flails in midair a little before Louis realizes, with a giggle, what Harry is looking for, but he can’t bother being embarrassed once his palm slides into Louis’.

Their hands drop when Doctor Calhoun enters the room, but for the rest of the session, Harry feels like his hand has been singed. He wonders how Louis is always so warm, because Harry’s own fingers were icy from the chill outside, and comes to the conclusion that someone like Louis, someone so warm and vibrant and full of life, cannot possibly be composed of flesh and bone.

Louis Tomlinson is a piece of the sun, broken off and brought to earth for Harry’s planet to orbit around.

Dr. Calhoun begins her standard round of questions; she asks about school, and his mum, and Gemma, and a whole lot of other things. Harry answers but doesn’t really focus on what he’s saying, let’s the words flow out of his mouth based on his vague memories of the week. It hasn’t really been a bad 7 days, per sé. It’s just been his usual routine, so Harry tells Dr. Calhoun that. He thinks he might say something about how the routine is starting to drive him crazy, that he wants something to completely break it and make his life a little more exciting, but he’s not sure. He’s too focused on the presence next to her, swears that he feels Louis’ warmth radiating out of him and Harry wants to touch, wants to feel if Louis is warm everywhere. He wants to know what his the skin of his cheeks feels like under his fingers, if it’s as soft as warm as the rest of him. Harry wants to hear him speak, just about anything and everything. Harry wants to feel and he wants to hear because that’s all he has, it’s all he can do. Maybe he wants to taste, but he’s not sure. Not yet.

Louis really does try to listen to Doctor Calhoun, because this is a learning experience for him, too, and he’s getting course credit and such, so he may as well learn something. But all he can focus on is Harry across from him. Every time Harry brings up feeling lonely or neglected or worthless, Louis just wants to take him and wrap him up in a little bundle of soft alabaster skin and curls and deep, throaty chuckles that pour through the room like honey.

And he knows, because Dr. Calhoun explained in no uncertain terms, that getting too attached can be unhealthy in these sorts of relationships, and that caring too much about his patients is just as bad for him as it is for them and the last thing he wants is for his feelings to hurt Harry. But with Harry in front of him, all dimples and curls and long, gangly limbs, it’s hard to focus on anything but that blossoming warmth in his chest.

It feels like five minutes, although Louis knows it must have been the allotted fifty, before Tabitha stands up, signaling that the appointment is over. Louis lets his arms slide around Harry’s waist, pulling him close to say goodbye. He takes advantage of Harry’s absurd height to bury his face in the other boy’s neck, inhaling the warm scent of baby powder and vanilla and evergreen that his mind was quickly attaching to Harry.

“I’ll see you next week, love.” Louis promises, grinning in triumph when he notices how pink Harry’s cheeks have turned. “Aw, look at you.” he coos teasingly, pressing his hand to one of Harry’s flaming cheeks.

“Shut up.” he hears Harry mumble in reply, clearly embarrassed but also pleased with the attention.

“Too cute.” he quips, and it occurs to him how easy it would be to lean in and press his lips against Harry’s. But he knows full well that Harry isn’t ready for it and he isn’t sure that he is either.

After Harry leaves the room, Dr. Calhoun turns to him, looking at the notes she made today. It’s silent for a minute while her eyes scan the paper, and then she looks up at him, seriousness in her eyes. Louis straightens up a bit, trying to seem professional.

“You were good with Maria today,” Dr. Calhoun announces, “it’s good that you can stay calm with her. I know she can get on people’s nerves, but you approached her really well. We should focus on finding her ways to get her anger out of her system without taking it out on other people, like we did today.”

Louis just nods along, feeling a small bit of pride blooming in his chest. It’s nice to know that he’s good at this, because this is what he loves doing.

“I’m glad Adam was in a good mood today,” she continues, “it makes him more open about things. When he’s down it’s difficult to really get through to him, but on days like these he really does listen. Last week I was a bit afraid he wouldn’t trust you, but seeing as he talked so easily today, that shouldn’t be an issue.”

Dr. Calhoun looks down at her papers again and purses her lips, and Louis waits impatiently for what she’ll say about Harry. All Louis can do when Harry talks is make stupid doodles on his notes like he’s a little schoolgirl with a crush. He was this close to drawing a little heart with H + L in it. But he didn’t because he’s not ridiculous. Absolutely not. At all.

“Harry,” she says, and then there’s a little pause while she frowns. “He seems to be perfectly comfortable with you. Which is strange in itself, since strangers usually scare him to a point where it gives him panic attacks.” Louis shifts a little, accidentally forgetting to mention that Harry kind of, sort of might have had a teeny, tiny panic attack last week. “It’s just, don’t give him the wrong idea, okay? This is still therapy, so don’t be too friendly with him.”

Louis pouts a little. “But he’s cute and I like him!”

“Louis.”

A tiny whining noise escapes his throat. “Fiiiine. No making the patients blush, I’ll keep it in mind.”

Or maybe he won’t. Oops.

Dr. Calhoun finally lets him leave after that, so he finds his rusty, old car in the parking lot and starts the engine. Time for coffee.

He’s about to speed up on the main road when he spots a mop of brown curly hair at the bus stop on his right.

Because Louis has always been one for rash decisions, and because he can’t bear to leave Harry shivering in the cold when Nick’s coffee shoppe is just a few blocks off and so cozy and warm, he abruptly pulls into a parking space, earning irritated honks from the cars behind him.

Louis leans his head out the window before he’s even fully parked, turning off the car as he shouts “Harry!”, waving maniacally. He giggles at the way Harry whirls sharply, nearly falling over in surprise. He clambers out of the car and rushes over, one hand on Harry’s waist to steady him.

“Hey, love. What are you doing here?” he asks, and yeah, perhaps it’s a bit of a dumb question since the only logical thing Harry could be doing at the bus stop is, well, riding the bus, but it’s the only thing that comes to mind.

He’s beginning to question whether this was a good idea, which is dangerous because Louis Tomlinson doesn’t have regrets, when Harry’s face splits into a heartwarming grin.

“Louis.” he smiles broadly, one hand coming up to touch Louis’ cheek even though he knows precisely who it is.

“Christ, your hands are frigid!” Louis whines, pulling Harry’s hand off and clasping it in his own. “Can I talk you into joining me for a cuppa? Nick’s is just down the block and it’s nice and wa-a-arm.” he singsongs merrily, swinging their arms for good measure.

Harry hesitates for a minute, trying to wrap his head around things. First off, Louis is holding his hand. And it’s not like earlier, when he did it to let Harry know he was there. This is different, this time Louis is holding his hand and asking him on what sounds to Harry’s hopeful heart like a date.

“Okay.” he smiles, shyly this time, and his cheeks turn that gorgeous shade of pink again.

He folds up his walking stick and tucks it in with his books, opting instead to hold onto Louis’ arm. He can practically feel Louis’ triumphant smile as they walk in a cozy silence, and Harry snuggles in close, using his nervousness in crowds as an excuse to be near Louis. 

“It’s just in here, love, a quick step up.” Louis warns.

He guides Harry in with a hand on his lower back, which makes Harry’s entire body tingle with some unknown form of excitement. Harry is once again overwhelmed by the smell of coffee and the chatter of the people occupying the shop. He clings tighter to Louis, this time in genuine fear of being lost in the crowd.

“Don’t let go.” he whispers urgently in Louis’ ear, and there’s something so raw and terrified in his voice that makes Louis bite his tongue and, instead, brush his lips reassuringly over Harry’s temple.

“You’re alright, love.” he assures him affectionately. “I’ve got you.”

To Harry’s lonely heart, it’s a promise. A promise he can only hope Louis will keep.

“Why don’t you sit down and I’ll go order us something, yeah?” Louis offers, his hand still a reassuring and warm pressure on Harry’s back. Harry wonders how a person can be as warm as Louis is, in every possible way. His chest aches with the need to know what Louis looks like, the need to know if Louis’ warmth is visible as well. He blinks once, twice, but he’s still as blind as he ever was. Wonderful.

“Harry?” Louis urges him on when Harry leaves the question unanswered. Harry coughs, turning ever so slightly pink.

“I wish I could see you.” he whispers, almost morosely. And suddenly, he feels strangely like he wants to cry, and it’s pitiful because he’s never been so upset about his disability because being blind is all he knows but right now, he’d trade anything for just a glimpse of Louis.

“Oh, love…” Louis coos, taking a seat beside him and reassuringly rubbing his shoulder. “It’s alright, it doesn’t matter.” he promises.

Gently, he clasps Harry’s hand and raises it to his own cheek, so that Harry can ‘see’ him again. Harry’s palm runs across his cheeks and his forehead, and slowly the tears recede from Harry’s eyes, and he smiles. His thumb brushes across Louis’ cheek bone and Louis shivers with it.

“I-I’ll go get the drinks.” he flushes, carding a hand through Harry’s curls and grinning at the way Harry goes pliant, almost purring with Louis’ fingers in his hair. His cheeks grow hot as Louis shakes his head fondly and makes for the counter.

He’s in line for what feels like forever. The shop is unusually packed with people, and Louis tries to keep an eye on Harry in case he gets nervous. Once he gets to a certain point in the line though, he can’t see Harry anymore. He trusts that Harry will call out or come find him if he gets upset, and tries not to worry.

“You here on a date?” Nick smirks when Louis finally reaches the front of the line.

“Sort of, I suppose.” He smiles smittenly, and Nick gives him the look. The fond eye roll that says he knows how Louis feels for Harry.

“Oh hush, you.” Louis blushes. “I’ll take one coffee and one tea.” he decides, knowing Harry isn’t much of a coffee drinker.

He pays Nick and gets the drinks from Johnny, who has fishnet stockings under his pink miniskirt today.

“Looking good, John.” Louis comments with a grin, causing the barista to flick his long pink hair over his shoulder as Louis returns to the table.

Harry keeps his legs glued to his seat, fearing that even the slightest flinch could cause him to bump into someone. There are people all around, he can feel them getting way too close to him. He’s overwhelmed, his breathing coming harder. His chest seizes up, feels like he can’t take in enough oxygen.

“Haz?” He hears, but the voice is faint in the overwhelming thrum in his ears, the buzz of life all around him.

“Harry, are you okay love?” Louis asks, gently rubbing Harry’s arm. Carefully, he draws Harry to his chest and cradles him close until he’s calm again, cooing softly in his ear.

“I’m fine,” Harry mumbles, “Just… a lot of people.”

A lot of people means a lot of sounds and noises and it all blurs together, and it’s scary, that’s what it is. Maybe if he could locate where each sound comes from, if he could give every little noise a reason, he’d be calmer, but he feels lost in the sea of voices. Louis’ hand on his arm anchors him though, makes him feel safe.

Louis sits down across from Harry and carefully takes his hands to close them around the cup of tea in front of him.

“Thank you.” Harry says softly, letting the cup warm the cold skin of his hands.

Louis purses his lips. “So,” he says, “why do you hate coffee?” He looks down at the black drink in his cup, wondering how people can hate coffee. It should be a crime, really.

“I don’t hate coffee,” Harry answers (No of course not, Louis thinks, Harry doesn’t hate anything; couldn’t hate anything if he tried), “it just smells funny.”

“Nuh uh,” Louis protests, feeling like he should personally defend coffee.

Harry shrugs a little, shyly. “Tea just smells better, I guess.” he explains, “I like it better because coffee has just one smell, but tea has different smells because there’s so many different kinds. Coffee is just… coffee.”

He says it all in one breath and then he feels surprise wash over him, realizing that he never really tells people stupid small things about himself. He doesn’t tell his parents, or Gemma, because they already know anyway, and besides that, he doesn’t really have anyone to share these things with.

“Espresso, cappuccino, ..” Louis starts summing up, before Harry interrupts him.

“Yes, okay, there’s like five different types of coffee. There’s a lot more kinds of tea. I win.”

“Fine.” Louis mumbles, “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Harry feels a blush creep up his cheeks - it’s like his skin is suddenly warmer, and he wonders what it looks like.

“What is red?” he asks promptly, as if Louis could explain him the concept of a colour.

Louis frowns. How the hell is he supposed to explain a colour to a blind person? He can’t give Harry examples - obviously; the boy can’t see.

“Um,” Louis hesitates, “I don’t know, I guess it’s kind of an intense colour? Like, love, and passion, and all that cliché stuff.”

Harry nods a bit, and then he sighs. “I don’t really understand that. I don’t understand colour in general. It’s difficult because I don’t have any reference.”

“Yeah” Louis nods. “I suppose…I’m sorry, I really wish I could explain it to you, but I just don’t think I can.” He wants so badly to make things better for Harry, and right now, he feels like he’s letting the boy down. He struggles internally to come up with any way to share this with Harry, any manner to explain colour to the sightless creature sitting before him.

“It’s like…when you touch something, and it’s warm…that’s often orange, or red, or pink. They’re all rather similar, but so…different, at the same time. Like your cheeks, they’re ordinarily the same colour as the rest of you, but when you blush, they turn pink. Sort of rosy. It’s the sweetest thing” He smiles sheepishly, and Harry, true to form, turns pink.

“What about blue?” He asks, and Louis thinks for a moment. “Blue is cool or cold, usually. Ice is blue, water is blue, it’s very relaxing. Sort of fluid, if that makes sense?” He tries. Harry shrugs. “It’s okay. You’re doing better than anyone else has.” There’s so much else he wants to say. He wants to tell Louis how much it means to him that he’s even trying. He’s long accepted that he probably won’t ever understand color. In the grand scheme of things, it won’t make very much difference in his life. Louis, on the other hand…Louis will. Louis already has changed him, and continues to do so every time they meet. “You’re good for me” Harry blurts out, drawing a sheepish laugh from Louis.

“I don’t know about that, Curly. I can be a right mischief maker when I need to” He teases, brushing his thumb over Harry’s knuckles. “I tend to rush into things, sometimes before I really know what I’m doing” He adds softly.

“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit” Harry responds easily, toying with Louis’ fingers until they’re interlocked with his own. Louis just laughs, rolling his eyes fondly. He wondered if Harry knew he wore his emotions on his sleeve, if he consciously tried to open himself up or if it was just a natural part of him. He wished he could take a picture of Harry in that moment and show it to him. To Louis, he was the most beautiful creature in the world.

Talking to Louis is easy, Harry decides. It’s not like therapy, either, because there’s no Doctor Calhoun to prompt them with questions that Louis helps Harry figure out the answers to. It’s simple, natural banter, and Louis is a pro. That shouldn’t surprise him, and it doesn’t, but what does shock Harry a bit is how open he himself is. Without even meaning to, he finds himself sharing things with Louis that he’s never told a soul.

“You know what I want to know?” He remarked, only slightly bitterly, when Louis carefully brought up the subject of Harry’s school mates, or lack thereof. “What do you want to know?” Louis raises an eyebrow, still holding Harry’s hand across the table.

“I want to know if I’d ever be one of them, even if I could see like they can. Or I wonder if they would push me away all the same”

Louis sighs sadly, giving Harry’s hand a little squeeze. The tension visibly drains from Harry’s shoulders at the admission, and Louis smiles gently. “Does it matter?” He asks softly. “I think you should focus on trying to make friends in spite of your disability, not wondering if you’d have friends if you weren’t disabled” He points out, and Harry gives him that little awed smile again, as if Louis is the best thing that had ever happened in his life.

“I guess I just don’t know where to start.” Harry says a little sadly. It’s through though. He can’t exactly just walk up to someone and introduce himself. Friendship doesn’t work like that. He thinks.

“Well, I’m a start, I guess.” Louis answers happily, “You can’t do worse than me, so it can only get better from here.” he adds jokingly.

Harry’s answer is serious though. “I think I could do a lot worse than you. Why do you keep talking about yourself like that?”

Louis squirms a little uncomfortably, not sure how to answer Harry’s question. He opts to keep his tone light and joking.

“Hey hey, no asking me those questions. I’m the therapist here.”

Harry chuckles a bit, a dimple appearing in his cheek. Louis almost reaches out to poke it, but changes his mind because he doesn’t want to startle Harry.

“You’re in uni, Louis.” he counters, and okay, fine, Louis isn’t exactly a therapist yet, but still.

“I’m still more qualified than you to ask people those kinds of questions, Harold.” he says, and then he takes a sip of his coffee, and it turns out that his mug is already empty. He didn’t even notice time pass by at all.

Harry seems to have noticed too, though. “What time is it?” he asks after swallowing down the last of his tea.

Louis glances at his phone. “It’s nearing 6pm. You need to go?”

Harry nods shyly. “Sorry, can’t be late for dinner.” he apologizes, and there it is again, a light shade of pink colouring his cheeks. Everything makes the boy blush and Louis loves it.

“That’s alright, we’ll walk back to my car and I’ll drop you off at home, okay?” Louis offers, giving Harry’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“Are you quite sure?” Harry asks softly, “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“Love, with a cute face like that, you couldn’t be a bother if you tried.” Louis smiles, and the light shade of pink turns deeper, is nearing red now. Louis feels strangely proud of himself, like it’s an accomplishment that he can make Harry blush.

“Okay.” Harry agrees softly, and Louis is glad that he doesn’t put up a fight, because he’s not ready to say goodbye quite yet. Maybe he’ll never be.

“Come on then, can’t have your mum thinking I’m a bad influence on you.” Louis smiles gently, guiding Harry out of his seat.

A firm arm around his waist leads Harry to the car, the same soothing voice coaching him through the crowd and down the stairs. Suddenly, Harry can’t remember how he ever did this without Louis at his side. It feels like he’s lost at sea, and the only thing anchoring him is Louis’ warm touch.

Wordlessly, they climb into the car, Louis solemn with the knowledge that this might have been his only chance to see Harry outside of therapy, given how nervous Harry seems to get around him, and Harry giddy with the prospect of another date with Louis.

“Where am I going, love?” Louis asks, revving the engine.

“Woah there, Danny Zuko.” Harry teases. “It’s 2414 Leeds Street.” he recites with a practiced ease, and Louis imagines Harry’s mother telling a little six year old Harry never to forget that.

He pulls out onto the road and cranks up the radio as they drive, the heat in the beat-up old car slowly warming their fingers, once again frozen from the walk to the car. Harry absently sings along, and Louis’ face illuminates with complete awe.

“Haz?” He croaks, the nickname slipping out before he can think twice about it.

“What?” Harry turns pink again, abruptly cutting off.

“No, don’t stop…I mean…you’re a brilliant singer” Louis smiles fondly.

Harry ducks his head at the compliment, his wild curls shielding his face.

“Thanks.” he mumbles, embarrassed but secretly so pleased by the compliment.

Louis has to sing along in order for Harry to start singing again, shy now that he knows Louis is listening. They sing together the rest of the way home, stumbling and giggling their way through bubblegum pop songs that absolutely shouldn’t be duets, and Louis can’t think of the last time he felt this way about another person.

All too soon, they’re in front of Harry’s house.

“Thank you for-um…for driving me. And for tea. I had a brilliant time.” Harry smiles timidly.

“Any time, love.” Louis grins. He jogs around the car to open Harry’s door for him, earning a sarcastic comment about chivalry from his companion.

“I suppose I’ll see you next week, then.” Harry stuffs his hands awkwardly into his pockets, unsure of the boundaries. He doesn’t want to go inside, he’s afraid he might float away if Louis isn’t there, with his warm touch tethering Harry to the earth.

“Perhaps even before then.” Louis grins mischieviously, snatching Harry’s phone from the back pocket of his jeans, which startles Harry. Silently, he types his contact information in. “Just in case.” he smirks and wraps his arms around Harry one more time, clutching him close.

“Bye, Louis.” Harry sighs into his neck, and Louis sighs.

Harry’s starting to feel like home.


	7. Chapter six

Harry isn’t woken up by an alarm that morning, nor is it his mother’s hand lightly shaking his shoulder. Instead, it’s the loud ringtone of his phone. He fumbles around a bit until his fingers find the source of the sound. He picks up after finally finding the button, his blindness once again a strain on his abilities.

“Hello?” he croaks, sleepiness seeping through in his voice.

“Good morning, love.” his mum answers, sounding cheery but tired.

Harry frowns, confused. “Why are you calling me?” he asks, considering that his mum is in the kitchen right now, probably.

“I left a couple of hours ago, Harry. Your cousin went into labor and she called me for a ride to the hospital.”

“Oh, um, is she okay?”

“Yes, she’s fine. In pain, but that’s normal.” Anne answers. “Listen, I can’t drive you to school because I’m still at the hospital. I’m sorry.”

Harry gets panicked immediately, but tries to keep his voice even. How is he supposed to get to school though? He can’t walk there, he doesn’t know how to get there well enough to go all by himself. He’d probably have a panic attack halfway there, anyway.

“It’s okay.” he squeaks out anyway.

“Can you call Liam’s mum? I’m sure she’ll want to drive you, okay?”

Harry takes a deep breath. “Um, yeah, sure?” he says, more a question than an affirmative answer.

“Alright, love, that’s settled then. I really have to go now. Love you.” Anne says as cheery as ever.

“Love you too.” Harry almost-whispers back, clutching the phone tight in his hand until he hears the beep that announces the end of the call.

The frozen fingers of panic clench around his throat at the dull sound. He’s trapped, essentially. There’s no one he can call, no one who can help him. This is just one of those times, times when Harry wishes more than anything in the world, that he were normal. The times when he sat on the edge of his bed and cried and wished to just be average.

He curls in on himself clutching his knees to his chest and wishes he had one person to call, one person who could help him in these kinds of situations. He can’t call Liam’s mom, can’t bear for her to see him like this. And besides, he hasn’t seen Liam in far too long, and it’s partly his own fault for not calling.

And then suddenly, it hits him. For the first time in his life, he has someone he can count on, someone who cares for him. He has Louis. His fingers trembling nervously, he carefully punches the digits of Louis’ phone number.

“‘Ello?” a very groggy-sounding Louis answers. His voice is deep and rough from sleep and it sends a surprising shiver through Harry’s body. “‘Ello?” Louis tries again, and Harry coughs, clearing those thoughts from his head.

“O-oh, uh…Louis, hi.” he manages to croak out.

“Hi?” Louis laughs. “Harry, what’s up?” he presses.

“O-oh, um, nothing.” Harry blurts, having almost completely forgotten why he’d called.

“So why did you call me at 7:30am, then?” Louis grumbles fondly.

Harry blushes, even though Louis can’t see him.

“I-uh, you see, my mum’s in the hospital with my cousin and I haven’t any way to get to school and I wondered if perhaps you could give me a lift?” he eventually manages.

“Sure thing, love.” Louis replies easily, giving not a moment’s hesitation.

There’s some shuffling in the background, and then a loud “thunk!” as Louis’ phone clatters to the floor.

“Sorry about that, had to get dressed.” Louis laughs, and Harry grins involuntarily.

“No worries.” he shrugs. “And Lou? Thanks a billion.” he smiles sheepishly. He hears Louis laugh through the phone and imagines what that would feel like under his fingers, that bubbly little giggle. Harry grins broadly at the thought.

He pays extra attention to his clothes that morning. Usually, he entrusted his mum with the task of finding something that “matched”, a concept that Harry did not understand. He felt around in the closet for his trousers and eventually felt the familiar rough fabric brush his hand.

He fumbles around for a button up shirt next, hoping that it’s a white one since a white button up is part of the school uniform to wear. He finds his blazer - that he knows to be blue with his school’s logo on it - and tie thrown over his desk chair, where he left them yesterday. After five minutes of fumbling around with his tie, he gives up and leaves it hanging untied around his neck. He’ll have to ask Louis to help him and he’s already blushing at the thought of Louis’ hands so close to him. Harry hopes he won’t laugh at him for not being able to do something that’s probably very simple to Louis. Nothing is simple to Harry.

Harry finds one croissant and an apple in the kitchen, munching on them while he looks for his shoes by the front door. He’ll have to buy lunch at school because he doesn’t trust himself with a knife when he’s home alone. He’s mastered the ability to make his own lunch by now, but it’s too much of a risk when there’s nobody around to help him out and he really doesn’t feel like explaining to Louis why his fingers are bleeding. Once he’s finished eating he feels his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth and run his hands through his hair, hoping it looks any kind of decent. Harry curses the fact that he has curls, because he never has an idea of how his hair looks. It might look okay, but it might as well look like a lion’s mane and he’d just be giving Louis one more reason to laugh at him, probably.

When Harry’s finally done getting ready - and he hopes that he doesn’t look absolutely ridiculous - he sits down at the kitchen table, fiddling with the hem of his shirt impatiently. He’d texted Louis his address earlier so he would know where to go, and he finds finds himself looking for the soft hum of a car engine taking the turn into his street, but for now, it’s silent around him except for the ticking noise of the clock on the wall behind him. What if Louis fell back asleep? Or if he got up and told his mates about this blind kid that can’t even go to school on his own? Or if he falls asleep in the car and he crashes into a tree?

Harry closes his eyes tightly, willing the storm in his head to settle down, trying to keep his breaths slow and even.

Louis hasn’t driven any earlier than 10am in a very long time. He’s rather used to speeding past a handful of other cars on his way to the store between his morning and afternoon class, because Niall is consistently eating him out of house and home. So needless to say, he’s irritated to find that everyone in the entire city of Manchester is on the road at 7:30. The clock ticks menacingly below the stereo. Louis anxiously honks, pulling around a whole line of cars that are turning into the driveway of a local prep school.

He checks Harry’s address one more time, thanking god that Harry’s house isn’t far from the main road. He pulls off onto a small side street and continues slowly down the road, looking left and right, until he finally spots a desperately lonely-looking boy standing in front of a small white house, a familiar mop of curls identifying him. “Haz!” Louis leans out the window, shouting to get Harry’s attention as he pulls up. Harry jumps in surprise, clearly startled. “Sorry, hey mate” Louis laughs and parks beside the house, getting out of the car to help Harry in.

“Hey, Lou.” Harry smiles sheepishly, his cheeks turning that adorable shade of pink once again. “Thanks so much for d-”

“Don’t worry about it, my pleasure.” Louis chides, effectively cutting Harry off.

“Could I ask one more favor?” Harry questions as they climb into the car and Louis leans across the console to buckle him in.

“Sure thing.” Louis laughs.

“Can you do my tie?” Harry asks diffidently, cheeks pinking once again.

Louis is never going to get used to that precious pink tint in his cheeks, nor how easy it is to conjure it. Rolling his eyes fondly, Louis climbs out of the car and opens Harry’s door, leaning in close as his fingers expertly do up Harry’s tie.

“There.” he grins, giving it a playful tug.

Louis can’t deny that little fluttering in his chest when Harry smiles that shy, grateful little smile. That one that appears when he’s embarrassed to ask for help but thrilled that Louis is willing to aid him.

“You ready?” he asks, smoothing Harry’s wild curls.

He cards his hand through them, letting his thumb brush along Harry’s neck enough to feel how quickly the younger’s pulse is racing.

“Ready.” Harry confirms, his entire body feeling a few degrees warmer with Louis so close.

Louis is suffocating. It’s almost as if Harry can’t breathe when he’s around, but in the best way. Instead of feeling like he can’t take in enough oxygen, like he does with a panic attack, he feels as though if he breathes, he’ll ruin the moment. What he has with Louis is so intangible, so fragile. Harry can’t bear to let that break.

Louis can tell Harry is nervous by the way his hands are clasped tightly together in his lap and the way his chest rises and falls a little quicker than is strictly normal. Tentatively, he reaches over and brushes his fingers over the back of Harry’s right hand, before closing them around his wrist and tugging lightly until Harry unclasps his hand and rests it on his knee. Louis puts his hand on top of Harry’s and keeps it there except for when he has to change gears.

Some minutes pass and then he hears Harry humming along to the radio ever so softly, nodding his head to the gentle beat. Louis can’t help but smile, giving Harry’s hand a soft squeeze. He stays quiet and after a song or two, Harry begins to sing along. Louis is captivated. He wants to say that Harry has the voice of an angel, but it isn’t true. His voice isn’t clear and crisp, it’s raspy and deep and beautiful, and Louis is reminded of a river bubbling over rocks, of a soft blanket to curl up in on a frozen winter day. Harry’s voice wraps itself around Louis’ heart and pulls him in.

“You’re a brilliant singer.” he murmurs after a minute or two, brushing his thumb across Harry’s knuckles.

And Harry’s cheeks turn that familiar rosy pink as he shakes his head modestly.

“You are.” Louis protests, but brilliant doesn’t even seem to begin to cover the beauty of Harry’s voice. Louis is certain he’s never heard anyone with that much talent. And Harry doesn’t know what to do, because it isn’t as if he gets loads of compliments to begin with, and he’s never sang in front of anyone either, so he doesn’t know what to say. He isn’t even sure why he’s singing for Louis-because there isn’t a doubt in his mind that this is for Louis-but he thinks it could have something to do with this new comfort he feels around Louis.

The feelings he gets when Louis walks into a room are an odd combination of maddening butterflies in the pit of his stomach and a warm, soothing sensation, like being swaddled in fleece. It’s love and lust and captivation and an overlying sense of relief, and that’s what scares Harry the most; how relieved he feels every time Louis walks into his life. It’s terrifying how much he suddenly needs him.

In no time at all, they’re in front of Harry’s school and Louis parks the car at the main entrance, quickly moving to help Harry out of the car. And Harry feels that cold panic wash over him again because this place sets him on edge, and it’s such a stark contrast to how he feels with Louis. But he can’t do anything about it, he has to go to school. Especially since Louis woke up early to drive him. Louis’ warm scent surrounds him as Louis puts an arm around his shoulder, guiding him from the car.

“Have a good day.” Louis smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to Harry’s hairline and relishing the blush that rises in Harry’s cheeks. Then he quietly adds “call me if you need a ride home.”.

Harry flashes him a grin and mumbles “thank you.” He unfolds his cane, the rubber ball at the end gently coming to rest on the pavement, and bids Louis goodbye.

A bit wistfully, Louis climbs into his car, gunning the engine purely because he can. He’d lie if you asked him, but he stays a moment in front of the school just to make sure Harry gets in alright. He’s surrounded by other kids, so Louis has a hard time keeping an eye on him. And then suddenly, he hears it.

“Who dropped you off, huh?”

Louis probably wouldn’t have noticed, but the crowd is starting to subside a bit and the culprit is heads taller than Harry. He can’t hear Harry’s reply, perhaps he doesn’t make one, but the boy is nearly shouting, calling a crowd around him.

“Was that your boyfriend?” the boy taunts, giving Harry a little shove and Louis has just about had it. He’s already contemplating stepping in, when the boy steps back, playing to the crowd now. “You know, if I was blind and a faggot, I think I’d kill myself.”

And Louis doesn’t quite register what he’s doing, all he knows is he has to help Harry. He’s out of the car and in a matter of seconds, has the boy shoved against the wall, his arm pressing firmly on his throat.

“What did you just say?” Louis hisses, giving him a death glare.

The boy doesn’t respond, just squirms, trying to get out of Louis’ grasp.

“Get off me.” he grunts, and he’s strong but Louis is stronger.

“If I ever see that happen again, you’re going to wish you were never born.” he threatens, and it’s a bit corny as far as threats go, but he lets the boy go feeling as if he’s done well by Harry.

And then he sees him. Curled into a ball on the floor, trembling like a leaf and crying quietly. People step around him without a second glance, oblivious to the broken boy beneath their feet.

“Harry?” Louis yelps, immediately sitting beside him.

He rubs Harry’s back soothingly, and for the first time, Harry flinches away from his touch.

Louis’ hand hovers mid-air, and he wants to touch Harry and soothe him and make him feel okay, but he doesn’t want to see him flinch away like that again, not from Louis; Louis of all people will not make Harry feel uncomfortable, he will not make this any worse than it is. He glances up quickly, and sends a death glare to a few people that are staring at Harry like this is some kind of show, like this is supposed to be amusing. When they’re finally alone, Louis turns to the trembling little ball on the floor that Harry has been reduced to.

“Haz?” Louis asks softly, and he wants to stroke Harry’s hair but he can’t, not if it will scare him. Louis can see the tears still flowing on his cheeks, and Harry lets out a choked sob and Louis’ heart breaks, right there, in a million pieces.

“Harry it’s just me.” Louis tries again, keeping the same low tone in his voice. Harry’s eyes clench shut and he shakes his head, and Louis isn’t entirely sure if Harry can hear him, or if he’s willing his mind to calm down.

“You need to breathe, love.” Louis instructs, “Can you try that for me?”

Harry’s eyes remain tightly closed but Louis thinks he can see a tiny nod, and Harry’s lips part and he takes in a deep breath. But then when he breathes out he stumbles and stutters and he’s lost control all over again and what is Louis supposed to do? Before he knows what he’s doing he’s reaching out for Harry again, but this time his hand settles softly on Harry’s knee and he can feel his muscles jump, but then Harry relaxes a bit more so Louis leaves his hand where it is.

“Everyone’s gone,” Louis whispers to him, squeezing his knee lightly, “Breathe, you can do it, come on.”

Harry nods again and he tries, and it seems to work, this time. Slowly, his breathing evens out and settles in a normal rhythm, until his chest rises and falls calmly again. Louis waits patiently.

“Sit up, please?” he requests, moving his hand to settle on Harry’s shoulder now that he’s calmed down.

For the third time, Harry nods curtly, so Louis gently helps him into a sitting position and then immediately pulls him close. Harry holds on tight, his hands fisting in the material of Louis’ jumper and clinging to him. Louis can feel Harry bury his face in his neck, the warmth of his breath tickling his skin.

The two boys sit there in the school parking lot for what feels like hours, Louis gently stroking Harry’s curls and letting Harry burrow into him. He rubs Harry’s back and kneads his tensed shoulders, trying to help Harry calm down.

“You’re alright.” he promises. “I’m sorry, love. I just wanted to help.” he murmurs, beginning to realize that it might have been not the bully but Louis’ reaction that set Harry off. Louis’ heart sinks and settles in the pit of his stomach, heavy with guilt.

“S’okay.” Harry murmurs, giving yet another timid little nod.

“I don’t think you ought to be in school today.” Louis suggests with a gentle smile, kissing Harry’s cheek gently. And if Harry wants to turn his head and capture Louis’ lips on his, well, no one has to know.

“So where should I be instead?” he giggles, his voice still a bit thick with tears. Louis quickly brushes Harry’s tears away with the pad of his thumb, choking down the treasonous voice that whispers “you caused that.”.

“How about you come back to mine? I’ll take good care of you, I promise.” Louis coos gently, toying with Harry’s curls once again.

Harry nods, maybe a bit too eagerly, and allows Louis to scoop him up and carry him to the car in spite of how undignified they must look. He tucks his face into Louis’ chest, his arms locked around his neck even though he trusts Louis implicitly not to drop him.

And just like that, he’s back in Louis’ car, this time headed in the other direction. Like the last time he was in this car, Louis holds his hand as he drives and swears liberally when they get stuck in traffic. Harry doesn’t mind it, though. No matter how long it takes, he can’t think of one place he’d rather be.

Harry is about to nod off by the time they arrive at Louis’ flat. He hadn’t slept well the night before and panic attacks take a lot out of him, in his defense. But then Louis has him in his arms again, newly excited.

“Louis-I can walk, put me down.” he laughs, weakly hitting Louis’ chest.

Louis refuses and carries Harry all the way up to the apartment, only putting him down to fish out his key once they’ve arrived at the door.

“Careful now, there’s a nasty raise under the door.” Louis cautions, guiding Harry through because he left his cane in the car. “I trip over it all the time.” he adds with a little laugh, earning a giggle from Harry.

“So?” Harry teases once he’s safely inside. “What’s the plan?”h presses and Louis grins.

“I thought maybe we could…” He’s about to suggest they watch films, but he’s not sure if Harry can do that, and even if he can, it’s not precisely the same. “Maybe we could just cuddle?” he offers instead, and if he’s being honest, that sounds much better anyways.

Judging from the enthusiastic nod that Harry gives in reply, Louis decides that’s an okay alternative.

“You can just go lie down, I’ll make us a cuppa and then I’ll be right in.” he promises, guiding Harry into his room.

He can’t help imagining Harry in here under slightly altered circumstances, but he brushes that thought aside and hurries to the kitchen, only after teasingly tucking Harry in.

Louis makes their tea in a hurry, bringing it back to Harry in such a rush that he manages to spill a concerning amount of scalding water onto his own arm, so that the teacups are really only half full by the time he gets to his room. Harry’s in a bit of a daze. He looks like he’s about to fall asleep and, while it may be the single most adorable thing Louis has ever seen, he selfishly wants Harry awake for just a little while, wants to spend a bit of time with him before he nods off.

“Hey!” he grins, jumping onto his bed.

“Mmm, hi Lou.” Harry smiles drowsily, reaching a hand out for him.

Louis grasps his hand for a moment, brushing his lips across the knuckles and relishing the way Harry shivers in response. His entire body seems to tremble in reaction to that simple touch and again, Louis is reminded of how that would look with Harry underneath him, shivering with pleasure. He coughs nervously and Harry pulls on him until they’re lying side by side, Louis’ arm around Harry and Harry’s head on his chest.

“Louis?” Harry mumbles tiredly, instinctively leaning closer to Louis’ radiating warmth.

“Hmm?” Louis replies, Harry’s stupor beginning to wear off on him.

“Have you ever thought about boys?” he blurts out, or blurts as well as Harry can with his throaty, languid manner of speaking. Louis chuckles, carding a hand through Harry’s curls.

“In what sense?” he teases, just to toy with him, but Harry’s getting increasingly sleepy by his side.

“Y’know…in, like…I mean, romantically.” he manages to croak between yawns.

And Louis is starting to think that this would be an ideal time to kiss him. So he leans in, checking Harry’s reaction to his increasing proximity. His mouth is ghosting over Harry’s, their lips a mere millimeter apart, when Harry shifts and exhales softly, sighing in unconscious content.

Realizing he’s lost his chance to Harry’s drowsiness, Louis settles instead for making him comfortable. He tucks both of them under a blanket and wriggles until Harry is on top of him, his face tucked into his neck. Harry begins to softly snore as Louis sings him a lullaby, something his mum sang to him frequently as a child.

“I wrapped my heart all around you, and I saved a place; it’s reserved for two. I can’t forget how it used to be just me; I felt incomplete. So I took an oath to be there for you. I want to show you my words are true. So I wrapped this heart in a gift too soon from me and wished for happy dreams.”


	8. Chapter seven

The week passes painfully slowly without Harry. Louis isn’t sure if he’s really allowed to spend so much time with him outside of therapy, so he does at least try to keep it professional. They text though, all the time. Louis finds himself getting up at 7:40am every morning just so he can make sure Harry gets his “good morning, gorgeous :)” before he heads off to school. Harry’s texts are often hard to read because he types them by dictating what he wants sent into the microphone. When Louis asked, he claimed that they made phones with a braille keyboard, but they were wildly expensive and Louis assured him that the typos were endearing. Tuesday morning, Louis sends off the usual “Have a good day at school babe, see ya later!” and receives almost instantly: “Cant weight to see foo where pool is over” which he roughly translates to “Can’t wait to see you when school is over” and grins.

 

Louis knows they’re probably not supposed to communicate like this outside of therapy, but he doesn’t really care. It’s not as if this is a job he gets paid for and could be fired from. It’s something he does out if his own decision, and if it’s not okay for him and Harry to be close, then fuck it. And if he’s completely honest, he’s just as excited as Harry to finish his classes today and see him.

 

Of course, whenever Louis is looking forward to something, his classes seem to drag by. Suddenly, his two hour English class seems to take a year and honestly, who can expect him to focus on poetry when there’s a warm little giggly bundle of gangly limbs and soft curls waiting for him? By the time his class is finally over and he’s allowed to leave, Louis is ready to stampede through his classmates just to get out the door. He very nearly runs over a freshman girl, who looks absolutely terrified so he briskly apologizes before racing to his car.

He manages to get his seatbelt slammed in the door, and he’s in such a hurry that he doesn’t notice until he’s two miles into the trip and his stupid car won’t stop beeping at him, telling him to put his seatbelt on. He ignores it in his haste to get to the clinic and probably would have been pulled over for speeding if the roads hadn’t been empty because of the rain storm. He worries that the rain will deter Harry from walking to therapy, and then he worries that it won’t and Harry will catch a cold, and then he worries that if Harry gets sick just to come see him, Harry’s mum will have his head. And then, of course, he chides himself for thinking that Harry is coming to see him, when he’s coming because he needs therapeutic help. And then Louis feels horribly guilty because somewhere along the way, he’d forgotten that Harry sometimes needed more than just a friend.

 

Finally, finally, he arrives at his destination. Louis parks his car and stops the engine and the beeping noise finally disappears, leaving Louis in silence. He locks his car and races inside the building, not wanting the rain to mess up his hair. He’s walking through the corridors at a fast pace, humming to himself happily, when he realises that he has to sit through two therapy sessions before Harry gets here, and his whole mood changes. First he has to deal with Maria’s eternal rage, and really, he’s getting so bored of it. Louis wants to tell her to get over it, but he knows it’s not that simple for her, and he knows he’s a bad person for being so annoyed by her behavior, but really, he just wants Harry. And then there’s Adam with his endless sadness, and Louis just knows he’ll be so drained and tired by the time Harry comes, and that was not his plan. He wants to make Harry smile and blush all the time, but then again, Dr. Calhoun might not appreciate Louis ‘flirting’ with her patients.

 

Louis’ impatience is getting to him, but he knows he has to be professional here. After all he’s here to help people, that’s what makes him happy and what keeps his life fresh, so he’ll do his job right because that’s his duty. He can’t help being a bit anxious to see Harry, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about Maria and Adam. The larger part of him understands their pain and aches to help them, to take a bit of the agony they go through onto himself and make it better. But he’s foggy and more than a little confused. His motivation for continuing to come to the clinic are questionable and for that, Louis is infinitely guilty. But there is a voice that’s settled into his mind, the part that tells him no problem and nobody matters more than Harry, that he’s here to see Harry, to have that brilliant smile light up his life one more time.

 

So he raps his fingers on his clipboard while Maria talks until she snaps that it’s irritating and tells him to stop. And he finds himself getting a bit more annoyed than he usually would, than he should, but well. He’s impatient and he wants to see Harry. Adam is as exhausting and discouragingly melancholy as always and Louis knows he shouldn’t think those things, he knows full well that Adam is sick and that what he has is a disease and not a personality problem. He’s studied these things enough to know that Adam should be medicated and that he should be in therapy. But he’s also a good person, and he can understand that everything about Adam which repels people isn’t something he can change. Louis gets it. He gets that Adam doesn’t just need a hug and a movie night. He gets that Adam is in a dark place and being melancholy isn’t who he is, but it’s part of his disease and he needs a safe place to let that out. And Louis doesn’t mind being that safe place. In fact, he adores being that safe place. But it kills him to see Adam cry and his heart breaks just that little bit more when a small part of him whispers “I don’t care, I just want to see Harry.”

 

But he does care, that’s why he’s here, so he pushes the thought aside and listens attentively, occasionally scribbling down a few notes. Adam’s feelings pour out more intensely than usual, and it’s scary but it’s also probably a good thing, for Louis. He can’t be distracted or irritated when Adam’s cheeks are lined with tear tracks that illuminate with reflected light when he turns a certain way. He can’t think of Harry when Adam’s hands come up to wipe the tears from his eyes and he sees line after line, scar after scar, cut after cut lining his arms. And it occurs to him that Adam is sort of beautiful, in a tragic, overwhelming way. Louis is almost relieved when he leaves, carrying the prescription for a new medication.

 

Louis dries his own tears-Jesus, he hadn’t even realised he was crying-and waits for Harry.

“You did well, Louis.” Dr. Calhoun speaks up, giving him a gentle smile and Louis can see that her eyes are coating in a silvery film of tears not unlike his own. “That was unusual, for Adam, but it’s good for him to let that out. And thank you, for not crying until he left. It’s just better that way.” she smiles sadly and Louis nods. He understands what he’s implying. It’s best not to be too emotionally attached to the patients, and if you do get attached, it’s infinitely better not to show it. Louis reads it as a warning even though Tabitha probably didn’t mean it as one, but he chastises himself mentally for growing so fond of Harry until Harry walks in, and then all of those thoughts are gone, because holy hell.

 

As it would happen, the rainstorm didn’t put Harry off coming to therapy. It seems that he walked through the rain just to get here, and he’s shaking like a leaf, his entire body drenched and his clothes soaked through. Louis tries, really he does, to ignore the little flip in his tummy, but Harry just looks so helpless and vulnerable in a way that makes Louis really just want to reach out and pull him close.

 

Dr. Calhoun lays a towel down on the couch before Harry sits, and then goes off in search of another one for Harry to dry himself, all the while chiding him for forgetting an umbrella. Harry teases that he can’t hold that, his bookbag, and his cane all at once and they all laugh. With hands the size of Harry’s, Louis is fairly certain he could carry all of those things plus a small elephant without much difficulty, but he looks so adorably all wet, with his sopping curls matted over his face, that he can’t find it in himself to protest. Instead, as soon as Dr. Calhoun is gone, Louis instinctively unbuttons his shirt because, well, he’s got an undershirt on at least and Harry’s trembling from the cold, the poor dear. He slips it around Harry’s shoulders, sitting beside him on the sofa. “You alright?” He asks gently, one arm around Harry, keeping him close in an attempt to share some of his body heat. Yeah, that’s what this is, sharing body heat. Louis totally does not want to touch Harry all the time. At all.

 

Harry gives a shaky nod and pulls Louis’ shirt tighter around him, his shivers losing a bit of their strength but they don’t subside for a while. “You’re so warm” Harry nearly purrs, nuzzling into Louis’ side happily.

 

“Well.” Dr. Calhoun quips. “You’re all cozy.” She rolls her eyes, but Louis senses a bit of fondness in it.

 

“He was freezing.” he defends weakly, and Harry gulps, ignoring the way his heart falters a bit. A little teeny part of him had hoped that Louis just wanted to cuddle with him, as absurd as that would be.

 

Dr. Calhoun starts asking him about his week, but Harry finds it very hard to concentrate on anything besides LouisLouisLouis and his warmth and his closeness and his whole presence in the room. He tries to answer the questions she’s asking, but he’s not even sure what exactly he’s saying. When Louis shifts a bit beside him, Harry can feel it and he stumbles over his words a bit, and are the palms of his hands really that sweaty? God, he is a teenage girl with a crush and he’s fairly certain he’s been blushing ever since he met Louis because that’s his body’s natural reaction to literally everything Louis says.

 

“So it was a good week?” Dr. Calhoun asks, and Harry just sort of nods, completely unaware of what he has just told her about his week at school.

 

“Um, yeah.” he mumbles, “It was okay I guess. Lonely but I’m used to it.”

 

He doesn’t mention his little date - was it a date? - with Louis, because that could get him in trouble and Harry doesn’t want that.

 

“You don’t just have to accept that, Harry, feeling lonely. You deserve better than that.” Dr. Calhoun says, and does Louis’ arm tighten around Harry or is that all just in Harry’s head?

 

Harry shrugs a little, not really knowing how to respond to that. “I guess it would just be nice for someone to take me out every once in a while, you know?” he answers eventually, “Like, someone who actually wants it, no pity. I’d quite like to go to the movies with friends sometime, even though I can’t see it.. I just want to feel normal sometimes but it’s really difficult when there’s this one basic ability that everyone has but I don’t.”

 

Louis is getting ideas here and he really probably shouldn’t be, but his chest is hurting at everything Harry is saying, even though it’s not the first time he’s heard Harry talk about himself like this. As Dr. Calhoun speaks to Harry about not beating himself up about what other people think of him because it’s their fault for being ignorant and not Harry’s for being blind, Louis decides that he’s going to take Harry to the movies. Tonight. He’s going to call him, convince him, he’ll probably be able to feel Harry blushing through the phone, and then he’s going to pick Harry up with his car because he’s a gentleman like that and they’ll have a perfect night.

 

“If you did go to the movies with someone, what might you see?” he muses, and Dr. Calhoun eyes him sternly. Right, okay. Not the best professional question, but Louis isn’t professional, he’s friendly. And the question was a perfect friendly one, so he’ll contentedly stand by it. Harry looks a bit taken aback and turns pink.

 

“I’ve always been kind of a sucker for a good rom com.” he admits, his cheeks turning pink and yeah, Louis definitely likes him an awful lot.

 

“Noted.” he smirks, giving Harry’s shoulder a squeeze.

 

Just like last time, Dr. Calhoun scolds Louis once Harry leaves. Louis is even more anxious to get out of there than last time, hopeful that, in the steady downpour of rain, Harry will need a ride home. It’s funny how Louis is so dependant on Harry needing him. But Dr. Calhoun will hear none of it, insistent that Louis understand just what he’s getting into. He’s lectured tirelessly, instructed to keep his professional relationships professional and not cuddle his patients when they’re cold or give them his clothes. When Louis insists he’s only trying to keep Harry warm and comfy, she points out that he didn’t hold Maria in his arms or take his clothes off the moment Adam walked in.

 

“Now you’re making it sound like something it isn’t. I didn’t take my clothes off when he walked in, Christ, Tabitha!” Louis taunts and has her giggling along with him after a second of silence. Louis grins. He may not have too much going for him; he’s smart but not the smartest guy in the class, makes steadily average grades, is a decent athlete and a shitty artist, but at the very least, he can charm the pants off of absolutely anybody, and that’s a skill worth having.

 

“Alright, Louis. You have me there. Just try, okay?” she pleads, and Louis chews his lower lip.

 

“Are you married?” he blurts out, and Tabitha looks a bit perplexed but holds up her hand, showing off a classically beautiful diamond ring. “Right, so. You get it then, right? I swear, I didn’t come here looking to fall in love with anyone. Christ, no offense, but your office is not the first place I’d look for a potential mate. But the thing is though, I did. It doesn’t matter that that wasn’t my intention because Harry found me anyways and I love him.”

 

Dr. Calhoun looks a bit stunned and honestly, Louis does too. It feels undeniably incredible to say that out loud though, even if he can’t imagine Harry’s ready to hear it, yet.

 

So he says it again. “I really love him, and I don’t know what to do about it because on some level, you’re right and he’s my patient, but he’s also my friend. He’s also the sweetest boy I’ve ever met. He’s also the first coffee date I’ve been on and the first person to make me feel like I genuinely matter. And I can’t give all that up for an internship. So if you’re asking me to chose between Harry and this job…I’m sorry” he shrugs persistently.

 

“I’m not asking you to choose, Louis”, Dr. Calhoun insists. “I’m just asking you to keep it separate, alright? I didn’t realize your feelings were so…intense. And for what it’s worth, I’m nearly certain they’re returned.” she teases, suddenly smiling and Louis can’t help but smile too.

“I hope so.” he giggles, fucking giggles just like Harry does and Tabitha rolls her eyes.

 

“Have fun tonight.” she winks before heading to her office and Louis sighs, hoping he isn’t this transparent to everyone. Sometimes, he selfishly thinks it’s an advantage for him that Harry’s blind because he can’t see that dopey, heart-eyed look Louis gives him whenever he walks into the room.

 

—-

 

Zayn shoots Louis a weird look the second he walks through the door. Louis raises his eyebrows at him.

 

“What?” he asks, throwing his bag somewhere in a corner.

 

“Why are you smiling like that?” Zayn says suspiciously, as if it’s a strange phenomenon for Louis to smile.

 

Louis shrugs, trying to act indifferent. “Um, no reason.” he mumbles, grabbing an apple in the kitchen because why not.

 

“Right.” Zayn replies, the sarcasm dripping off of his tone. He eyes Louis with a suspicious look again. “Did you get fucked or something?” he says bluntly, no shame to be detected in his voice.

 

Louis gulps and blushes, almost choking on the bite of apple in his mouth. “No, I didn’t,” he splutters, and Zayn is laughing. “You asshole.” he adds with a frown.

 

“You’re awfully cute when you’re blushing, Tommo.” Zayn comments, pinching Louis’ right cheek.

Louis bats his hands away and frowns at him again. “Get off me, you twat.” he orders, but he’s smiling and so is Zayn so who really cares.

 

“Come on now, Lou, spill the beans.” Zayn encourages him, poking his sides a bit because he knows Louis is sensitive there.

 

“Nothing is going on, Zayn.” Louis assures him, taking another bite of his apple, “I have to make a phone call.”

 

And then he quickly walks to his room, shutting the door behind him and laying down on his bed spread eagle. Really, this is absolutely ridiculous. He just has to call Harry and get this over with and then tell Zayn he has a date with a seventeen year old blind boy. Louis can do that. Okay.

 

Grabbing his phone, Louis dialls Harry’s number before he can change his mind. His heart is beating fast in his chest as he waits for Harry to pick up, and yep, this is definitely ridiculous.

 

“Hello?” Harry’s tentative voice comes after a couple of beeping sounds.

 

“Hey there Harold.” Louis greets him, and okay, apparently he’s calling him Harold now.

 

“Um, hey Lou,” Harry answers shyly, “Why are you calling me? Not that I mind or anything I’m just curious.”

 

Louis smiles at Harry rambling a bit.

 

“Well,” he says rather dramatically, “a little birdy told me that you really like romcoms.”

 

Louis can hear Harry chuckle on the other end of the line and his stomach starts doing backflips again.

 

“Really?” Harry asks cheekily, and God, Louis is so gone for him.

 

“Really.” Louis confirms, “The little birdy also said that she thought you were free tonight for a movie date but she wasn’t entirely sure. Confirm or deny?”

 

“Confirm.” Harry giggles, and Louis’ brain is starting to get fuzzy at this point, because really, is this boy even a real person?

 

“Well, then you better be ready at six because I’m taking you out.” Louis says cheerfully, fumbling with the hem of his jumper a bit.

 

“You really want to?” Harry asks, and suddenly the cheekiness is gone and he sounds so small and insecure, and Louis wants to reach for him through his phone and pull him close.

 

“Of course I really want to, Styles,” Louis answers, trying to sound very determined, “You’re quite the charmer, you know?”

 

Harry giggles again and Louis sighs a little, relieved. “So are you.”

 

“Alright, that’s settled, I’ll see you at six, yeah?” Louis says excitedly, because he really can’t wait to see Harry again even though it’s only been an hour.

 

“Yeah, okay, Lou. Sounds brilliant.” Harry grins, carefully holding his thumb over the microphone of his cell before letting out a thrilled burst of laughter, wriggling ridiculously. “I can’t wait.” he adds casually after a moment.

 

Louis snorts at Harry’s reaction, smiling to himself. “See ya later, Hazza. Take care.” he smiles and almost adds a “love you!” before he hangs up. Thankfully, he remembers not to. Sort of. Okay, he murmurs it to himself after Harry’s put his phone down, but that hardly counts.

 

“Alright, what was that about?” Zayn pokes his head in, raising an eyebrow knowingly at Louis.

 

“Nothing, mate. I swear.” Louis has always been a poor liar, and it’s never more evident than in this moment.

 

“Come off it. You were talking to that blind kid, eh?” he questions, and Louis sometimes really hates that Zayn is so damn clever.

 

“Yeah.” he shrugs. No point in lying, Zayn sees right through him. “Yeah, I was. We’re going to see…er, catch a film.” He tries to make it sound very casual, but Zayn sees how nervous Louis is all of the sudden, like he’s afraid Zayn won’t approve. Which is bullshit, because Louis doesn’t need anyone’s approval, it’s just that he rather likes having Zayn’s, if he can.

 

And from the way Zayn smiles, Louis assumes he can. “If you’re happy, mate, I’m happy for you. But when do I get to meet this guy?” Zayn demands, and Louis rolls his eyes. “

 

I’m picking him up tonight, I can bring him back here for a few after the film if you promise not to scare him.” he teases. Zayn sighs and promises to keep it on the down low so as not to terrify Harry, but only after Louis begs “Please, Z? I really like this one.”

 

Zayn gives Louis a hug before he goes, promising that he’ll call Niall and make sure he’s home before Harry gets here in spite of Louis’ adamant protests that Niall will only scare his poor Haz. And then Louis is out the door and fuck, he’s running late. The sky’s already getting rather dark when he pulls out of his driveway, borderline speeding to Harry’s house. He’s about to knock on the door when an idea occurs to him.

 

Harry lives in one of those picturesque, lovely neighborhoods with lots of little children and grannies and white picket fences. And lots, and lots of gardens. In fact, Harry’s next door neighbor keeps a pretty lovely one. Louis vaults his body over the fence, nearly falls flat on his face, and after stealthily checking to be sure the house is empty (glancing up at the windows in search of glaring lights), he starts picking.

 

Louis has never been good at this sort of thing, but his mum loves arranging flowers, so Louis learned a few things from her. He picks a few sturdy looking, perfumey flowers to be the centerpiece of the bouquet, and then adds a few lightly scented fillers around them. It’s not the most exquisite bouquet of flowers ever, but they smell lovely and there aren’t any of those vile thorns, so Louis returns smugly to Harry’s door, filled with pride at his idea. Flowers makes it a proper date, he thinks to himself.

 

He knocks and Harry answers as soon as Louis’ hand leaves the door, making Louis laugh. He’d obviously been standing by the door, waiting, and it only makes Louis smile more. “Hey, curly” Louis grins, ruffling Harry’s hair.

 

“Lou…” he whines, feigning irritation as Louis messes up his perfectly (he hopes) styled hair. He quickly brushes it back into place as best he can, his fingers touching Louis’ hand and sending sparks of electricity up his arm.

 

“No complaining, Harold,” Louis chides him playfully, “I brought you flowers and everything, so don’t make me change my mind.”

 

“Flowers?” Harry asks curiously, and there it is, that lovely shade of red creeping up his cheeks.

 

Louis nods and reaches out his arm. But of course Harry can’t see what he’s doing, so he urges him on. “There you go.” he offers, still holding the flowers in front of Harry. Harry reaches out, his hand searching in the air, until it finds Louis’ hand instead of the bouquet he’s holding. Harry’s fingers brush over the back of Louis’ hand, following his fingers until he finds the flowers. He takes them out of Louis’ hands carefully and lifts them up so he can smell the bouquet.

 

“Smells lovely, thank you Lou.” Harry says quietly, his cheeks going even pinker and Louis is overwhelmed by how adorable he is. “I’ll go put them in a vase so they don’t die.” Harry adds, and he turns around and heads for the kitchen.

 

Louis notices then that Harry doesn’t use his cane inside the house, walking to the kitchen without even feeling around him for any objects that could be in his way. Louis is amazed, really, by how skilled Harry is in knowing exactly where to go. Then he hears a tap running and he quickly follows Harry to the kitchen, where he sees a woman with dark hair standing at the counter reading a magazine. She looks up when she hears Louis enter, looking him up and down, but her eyes are endlessly kind. Then she looks at Harry carefully putting the flowers in the vase and her expression softens even more.

 

When the silence stretches out, Louis speaks up. “Um, hi,” he greets, “I’m Louis.”

 

Harry’s mum smiles at him and takes a few step closer to him. “I know, Harry told me you were picking him up to go and see a film.” she replies cheerfully, “That’s all he told me though. Impossible to get information out of this one. Doesn’t talk much.”

 

Louis chuckles. “That’s the first time I’m hearing that. I can’t stop him talking usually.”

 

Her smile grows and she reaches out for Louis and hugs him close. “He must really like you then. I’m Anne, by the way.”

 

“Nice to meet you.” Louis says kindly, smiling at her as bright as he can.

 

“Aren’t you a charmer,” she laughs, pinching Louis’ cheek.

 

“I try.” Louis smirks.

 

“Well, it’s not often Harry has someone over,” Anne beams, “would you like some tea, maybe?”

 

“I’d love to, I really would,” Louis answers apologetically, “But we have a movie to catch and I don’t want to be late.”

 

Anne keeps smiling though so he knows no harm has been done. “Oh that’s alright love, some other time then, yeah? You two go have fun.” she reassures him, before turning to Harry. Grabbing some money out of her purse, she walks over to him and kisses his cheek. “Have fun, Haz. And don’t be late.”

 

“Muuuuuum.” Harry whines, wiping his cheek.

 

Louis laughs and takes his hand. “Come on, let’s go.” he decides. “And by the way,” he adds, “Mum’s are supposed to be embarrassing. It’s their job.”

 

The last thing he sees before they’re out of the door is Anne beaming at them happily.

 

“She seems really lovely, Haz.” Louis reassures him, his fingers interlocking with Harry’s. He recalls something Dr. Calhoun said to him on his first day of therapy, about how vital statistics don’t help you get to know a person, and muses to himself how true that turned out to be. On paper, Harry wouldn’t seem like the type of person Louis would like to spend a lot of time with. But in spite of his disability and his inherent shy nature, Harry is a true delight to be with and Louis mentally thanks Tabitha for telling him not to judge the patients by their diagnoses. There’s so much more than just a cover to these battered books. The pages have more to offer than Louis ever could have imagined.

 

“She is,” Harry smiles, almost proud in spite of his embarrassment. “I love her to death.” he adds with a grin, silently adding that she’s all he has. Louis seems to understand, and gives Harry’s hand a squeeze.

 

“Mind the curb, love.” he chides, pulling his hand free of Harry’s to rest it on his lower back. The touch feels like the coals of a fire, burning through Harry’s shirt and making the skin beneath it turn hot; but it’s soothing, too. Somehow, Louis manages to light Harry on fire and calm him down at the same time with every simple touch. Heeding Louis’ instruction, he carefully climbs into the car.

 

“I’m not six, Louis. You don’t have to buckle me in.” he giggles when Louis pulls the seatbelt across his lap.

 

“Whoops! Too late.” Louis smirks, giving Harry a chaste peck on the cheek just before shutting the door. He slides across the hood of the car just for fun, missing the blush that paints Harry’s cheeks. He doesn’t see Harry’s fingers come up to brush the place where his lips had been, and Harry doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until Louis is in the car and he hurriedly drops his hand to his lap.

 

“What are we seeing?” Harry asks casually, firmly pointed forward. Louis wonders if he’ll ever really get used to talking to Harry, if he’ll ever be accustomed to conversing with someone who, at first glance, doesn’t seem to be listening. But Louis guesses that he will, because he’s already starting to notice. He’s already begun noticing things, little ticks that show Harry’s listening. His lips part a little, his eyebrows furrow in concentration, he chews his lip. All of these subtle changes to Harry’s visage indicate that he’s listening and Louis is beginning to register them just as he registers eye contact.

 

“I thought we’d see Friends With Benefits?” Louis suggests, holding Harry’s hand on the glove box as has become a thing between the two of them. Harry’s not naturally a tactile person, but he is with Louis. It’s as if he needs to be touching Louis to feel anchored, to feel like his feet are on the ground. Louis is home. And as much as it’s scary, because he can’t imagine Louis is as attached as he is, it’s also amazing, because he’s never felt this sort of gravitational pull to another person before. Louis really is his sunshine.

 

“That sounds great, I’ve heard it’s funny.” Harry smiles, giving a timid shrug.

 

“Zayn and Niall saw it last week, they thought it was brilliant…” Louis explains, chewing his lip. “But if there’s something you’d rather see…” he adds quickly, wanting Harry to enjoy their date.

 

“Friends with Benefits sounds brilliant, Lou.” Harry assures him with a nervous chuckle. For once, at least it seems, he’s not the only nervous one of the two of them.

 

“Sounds like a plan, then.” Louis grins and squeezes Harry’s hand. “You’ll let me snuggle you during the scary parts, right?” he teases, and Harry laughs brightly.

“I don’t think there’s going to be many scary parts, Lou. But you can snuggle me anyways…” he hints, his expression so innocent and hopeful it makes Louis’ heart melt.

 

“It’s a deal.” Louis promises. “One sec, babe, I gotta find a parking space…” He lets go of Harry’s hand reluctantly to navigate the wild jungle that is the movie theater lot.

 

—

 

For all the people in the parking lot, the theater isn’t as packed as Louis anticipated, and they have no trouble finding two tickets. The vendor gives Harry a strange look, clearly questioning what the kid with the walking stick and the blank stare is doing at a movie theater, and Louis glares at him protectively. His arm loops around Harry’s waist, pulling him close.

 

“You want to get popcorn and drinks?” he whispers in Harry’s ear, already turning to the little snack shop in the theatre. It’s hard to walk with Harry so close to his side, so he takes a little distance, but keeps his hand on the small of Harry’s back.

 

Harry nods, a little distracted by Louis touching him all the time, but he’s more than okay

with it. “Yes please,” he says shyly. “I hope there won’t be too many people with bags of crisps and stuff. It’s very distracting.” he adds, following to wherever Louis is leading him.

 

Louis almost says “Tell me about it.”, but then he realizes that all Harry has when he’s ‘watching’ a film is his hearing, so it must be very annoying when all you can here is packets of crips crackling. He keeps his comment to himself and orders a drink for both of them, and a big bucket of popcorn they can share.

 

“Ready?” he asks, his hand still on Harry’s back.

 

Harry confirms with a nod, and Louis carefully leads him through the small crowd, through the doors and then to their seats.

 

“Comfy?” he asks as soon as they’re sitting, putting the bucket of popcorn in between them.

 

“Yeah, brilliant.” Harry confirms, smiling in Louis’ general direction.

 

Soon after the commercials before the movie start, and Louis starts whispering jokes and puns into Harry’s ear, effectively making Harry giggle - and blush, probably-. Louis catches him trying to stifle his laughter with his hands.

 

“None of that.” he chides, taking Harry’s hand away and holding it in his instead, because what’s the point of a movie date if you’re not even going to hold hands. When the lights go out completely, Louis stops joking around and goes silent, tracing patterns over the palm of Harry’s hand as the movie starts.

 

Harry feels the change in Louis’ demeanor once the film starts, and he tries very hard indeed to pay it adequate attention. But Louis is so distracting beside him, with his warm hands and his overwhelming aftershave and his uproarious laughter, that by halfway through the film, Harry still can’t tell whether this is the one with Ashton Kutcher or with Justin Timberlake.

 

And honestly, once Louis’ arm is wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him closer, how can he even pretend to care about the film? All he can think is Louislouislouis. He’s so bright he’s almost intoxicating, and all Harry can do is sit and snuggle a little bit closer, because Louis is the sun and there’s no escaping his orbit.

 

At some point, Harry begins to build up a tolerance to Louis, so that he’s not the only thing in the room Harry’s poor besotted mind can process. He’s still the central focus, of course, but other thoughts begin to drift in and out and he starts trying to follow the plot of the film. From what he can tell, the couple on the screen are sleeping together, but completely deny any romantic feelings for each other.

 

And he can’t help briefly wondering if Louis brought him to this movie to send a message.

 

He’s spiraling down the worry hole once again, convincing himself that Louis chose this movie because this is the sort of relationship he wants with Harry. And, well, that’s scary. Because of course Harry wants that sort of thing with Louis down the road, of course he wants to be intimate with him. But he also wants affection and love and care. He wants all-night phone calls and strolls through the garden and snowball fights that lead to hot chocolate and gentle kisses even more than he wants Louis to be his first, to touch him in all those places he’s never been touched. And if Louis only wants sex, well, Harry isn’t sure he can give that. In fact, he’s pretty sure he can’t, he just doesn’t know if can’t means won’t. And he’s starting to panic a little, not in a panic-attack sort of way but in a more rational, mental way, when Louis starts tracing patterns on his shoulder.

 

Then suddenly, there are gentle fingers carding through his curls and soft lips at his ear, murmuring “do you like the film?”. And Harry relaxes, because he may not know what Louis wants down the road, and they probably will have to talk about it eventually, but right now Louis isn’t asking him for sex. Right now, Louis is holding him and soothing him and making sure he’s okay. And that’s definitely enough for Harry.

Before he even registers what’s happening, Louis is nudging him. “Love?” He whispers in Harry’s ear. “It’s over, babe. Are you asleep?” He giggles and Harry shakes his head quickly, embarrassed.

 

“No! No, sorry. Just thinking.” He blushes deeply and Louis grins.

 

“I take it you didn’t care for the film, then?” Louis teases.

 

“Of course I liked it, it was brilliant!” Harry protests weakly.

 

“S’alright, you don’t have to like everything.” Louis reminds him. “And I thought Justin Timberlake was kind of rubbish, really.”

 

Right. So it is the one with Justin Timberlake, Harry muses to himself.

 

“I liked it. I just like you better.” Harry smiles, letting Louis lead him out of the theater.

 

It’s Louis’ turn to get flustered, apparently, because his cheeks get hot and he laughs sheepishly. “You’re too cute.” he grins, fondly rolling his eyes.

 

“Hey, Lou?” Harry blurts after a moment’s hesitation.

 

“What’s up?”

 

“I think I like guys” Harry admits casually. In truth, he can’t imagine doing it in any other way. It doesn’t feel like it needs to be a big thing, coming out-especially to Louis-, and so Harry isn’t going to make it one.

 

“Yeah?” Louis grins. “Me too, Curly” He smiles and wraps himself around Harry again, leading him out of the theater.

 

His arm is wrapped around Harry’s waist, his other hand on his shoulder, and it’s hard to tell where Harry ends and Louis begins. It’s almost as if Harry’s a part of him now, an extra limb that Louis has to guide. He thinks he likes Harry an awful lot more than the rest of his limbs.

 

The boys are relatively silent on the ride home, just enjoying Zayn’s latest tape and the soothing comfort of each other’s company.

 

It takes longer than it normally would, but the car is moving constantly and quickly, so Harry turns to Louis in confusion. They’ve got to be almost ten minutes past his house now, and Louis hasn’t mentioned it. “Lou? Where are we going?” he asks, shifting in his seat and grabbing Louis’ hand for comfort. He doesn’t like not knowing.

 

“Oh, shit, sorry!” Louis giggles. “I’ve driven right past it, I’m headed towards my flat.” he laughs, but he keeps driving. “Since we’re already here…d’you wanna meet my flat mates? They’re dying to meet you…” he asks eagerly, certain that Harry won’t mind.

 

“I-I dunno…I’m really…I’m not very good at meeting new people, Louis. They won’t like me.” Harry sighs rather sadly, chewing his lower lip.

 

“C’mon, Haz, you’ve nothing to be afraid of. They’re my mates, they’ll love you just because I do.” Louis promises with a huff.

 

“All the same, I don’t doubt they’re great lads…I just would rather…Louis, they aren’t going to like me and…and…” he trails off, too nervous to make his point. He’s terrified that if Louis’ friends don’t like him, Louis will be forced to choose between them and a sinking feeling in his gut tells him that no amount of movie dates and cups of coffee could ever equal the friendship Louis has with his best mates.

 

“And nothing, Harry.” Louis finishes the sentence for him, and Harry’s heart sinks when he hears Louis’ voice has lost the warm tone it usually has. “They’re my friends. I’ll admit that they’re both assholes sometimes, but they’ll be nice and they’ll like you.”

 

Harry just shakes his head, getting more nervous by the second as Louis keeps driving to his flat. “I can’t Lou.” he whispers, voice shaky.

 

“Of course you can. You can’t just go and disappear whenever you’re confronted with new people, you’ll need to face them sometime. Don’t you trust me?” Louis asks. Harry’s heart sinks even further at the thought that Louis wouldn’t think Harry trusts him.

 

“Yes I do!” Harry defends, and he’s surprised at how loud his voice sounds in the car. “I just can’t do this today. Please take me home.” he adds quietly. Short after he feels the car slow down and then make a U-turn, which means they’re headed to Harry’s house again.

 

Harry only just catches Louis mumbling “seriously” under his breath, his tone obviously disapproving. At this point Harry wants to cry and disappear and rip himself out of his own skin at the same time, because apparently it wasn’t enough that he was blind, no, he also had to live with anxiety that dooms him to eternal loneliness. It’s even making him lose Louis now.

 

Soon after, the car comes to a stop and Harry unbuckles his seatbelt with shaky fingers. He can hear Louis moving around too, which means he wants to help Harry out of the car and walk him to the house, but Harry stops him.

 

“I can do it myself.” he whispers, not wanting to bother Louis anymore than he already has.

 

Louis sighs deeply. “Alright.” he mumbles, “Goodnight I guess.”

 

“Goodnight.” Harry greets, and as soon as the front door shuts, he hears Louis’ engine start and then he’s gone and Harry is alone. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the last update for today, let us know if you like it!  
> Find us at larryletters.tumblr.com, sometimes we answer character asks.
> 
> x, Caroline and Johanna


	9. Chapter eight

Louis slams the front door of their flat a bit harder than strictly necessary when he gets back. Zayn emerges from the kitchen, an excited look on his face, but he frowns when he sees Louis is alone.

 

“Where’s Harry?” he asks, and really, Louis doesn’t want to talk about this. At all.

 

“At home.” Louis replies, leaning back against the door and looking Zayn straight in the eyes.

 

“Um,” the other boy hesitates, taking a step closer, “weren’t you going to bring him here so we could meet him?”

 

Louis keeps staring at him, trying to keep any kind of emotion off of his face, because he’s really not in the mood for this. “Yes I was,” he answers, having to look up a little now that Zayn is standing closer, “but I didn’t. Sue me.”

 

“Don’t be rude, Lou,” Zayn says a little defensively, “I was just asking. No need to be a dick about it.”

 

“I’m not being a dick.” Louis defends, “I’m just tired. Now if you’ll excuse me…” Louis takes a step towards the hallway, but Zayn grabs his wrist, stopping him from walking away.

 

“No no,” he says, tugging Louis towards the kitchen, “I’m going to make you tea, and you’re going to tell me what happened.”

 

“Fine.” Louis huffs letting Zayn drag him. It isn’t worth putting up a fight, Zayn can be stubborn. Plus, it might help him to talk, and Zayn is the perfect listener.

 

“So?” Zayn demands gently as he put the kettle on, pulling two mugs from the cabinet. “Where’s your mystery boy, then?” he asks.

 

“Home. I told you that.” Louis quips, rolling his eyes. Zayn sighs impatiently. “Fine, we had a little row.” he confesses.

 

“What does that mean?” Zayn asks carefully.

 

“It means I wanted him to meet you guys, and he wouldn’t. Too scared, or something.” Louis huffs impatiently. Zayn hands Louis a mug of his favorite tea and sat down beside him at the counter, rubbing his arm comfortingly. He can tell Louis is more upset about it than he is letting on, and he hates to see his best friend in such distress. It occurs to Zayn then that he had never seen Louis so happy as he had been in the months since meeting Harry. “And…?” Zayn prompts.

 

“And nothing, it wasn’t nice.” Louis grumbles, keeping up the petulant child act.

 

“Louis, are you six years old? Give him a break, yeah? C’mon, mate. I can tell how happy he makes you, don’t lose him over something silly. Alright? Promise me you’re going to fix this.” Zayn pleads gently. Reluctantly, Louis nods.

 

“You’re right.” he acknowledges grumpily. Louis isn’t the type to enjoy admitting he’s wrong, but, well, Zayn does have a point. Harry makes him so much happier just by existing, just with those little clumsy messages at way-too-early o’clock, and Louis can’t lose that. “I’ll go over there in the morning.” Louis promises, and Zayn gives him a pat.

 

“Good lad,” Zayn teases. “Now get a good night’s rest so you’ll be proper ready to mend things with Curly, tomorrow. I’d like to meet him someday, but don’t let it cause any more rows between you.” he teases, and Louis rolls his eyes.

 

“Yes, sir.” He salutes, making Zayn snort.

 

“G’night, Lou.” Zayn laughs.

 

“Goodnight, you stupid relationship-saving twat.” Louis replies.

 

—

 

When Harry awakes the morning following his date with Louis, and the accompanying spat, lonliness washes over him like a tsunami, crushing him and bringing tears to his eyes. And when his mum comes in, all worried and pitying, Harry wants to gouge them out because they are useless for anything except displaying the emotions he would rather keep a secret.

 

He let himself love Louis, and now he’s alone again.

 

He should have considered this. He should have known that Louis couldn’t put up with him forever, he should have prepared for the moment when he would no longer have the best thing in his life. But really, how dp you prepare to lose the best thing you’ve ever known? How could you make it okay to have the one thing that made you happy snatched away from you?

 

So Harry allows himself to cry, this time. He sobs as he painstakingly explains to Anne what he’d done, how he’d driven Louis away, whimpers as she rubs his back soothingly and assures him that everything will be okay because it won’t. Somewhere along the way, he let Louis become his everything, and now that he’s gone, Harry feels empty and lost and so, so foolish.

 

Harry sobs and sniffles until there’s nothing left and he’s just sitting there, while his mum pets his hair and softly urges him on to breathe calmly. He inhales deeply through his nose and slowly blows the air out of his lungs again, trying to find a calm rhythm. When he does eventually, his mum softly kisses his cheek.

 

“It’ll be alright, love.” she soothes (It won’t, Harry thinks bitterly), “Get dressed for school, okay? I’ll go make you some breakfast.”

 

Harry nods in agreement, too tired to deny her statement or to refuse to go to school. He’ll have to face this day like any other day, and honestly, what’s the difference at this point? They’re always going to pick on him, people are never going to accept him as an equal, so he might as well just leave, go to school and get used to it because it’s going to be like this for the rest of his life.

 

After he’s put on the clothes Anne has laid out for him - he can’t even pick his own outfit, really -, Harry goes downstairs to find that she’s made him scrambled eggs and toast. He smiles gratefully and sits down, eats a few bites and then hurries off again to find his backpack. He feels as if he might throw up if he eats any more.

 

The car ride is quiet, and the school seems quiet to Harry as well. But that’s just because he doesn’t really care right now, the nasty remarks fly around and bump off his skin, he can’t hear it, he doesn’t feel people shoving him. Harry’s in his own bubble and he feels pathetic that he let someone he knew for a few weeks have so much control over his happiness.

 

And before he knows it, the day is over and he’s sitting on the wall in front of the school and waiting for his mum to come get him and suddenly everything smells like coffee and grass and overwhelming warmth and there arms around him; strong, muscular arms that he just wants to curl into and melt, so he does. He does because Louis is there and now, everything is going to be okay.

 

“Don’t do that again.” he pleads as soon as he can speak, and Louis nods, kissing the top of his head.

 

“M’sorry, Haz. Honestly, I overreacted. But even if I’d been proper angry over it, I’d never leave you. You know that, right? You’ve always got me.” Louis promises. It may be the single most reassuring thing Harry’s ever heard. He kind of wants it inked into his skin forever, so that he can brush his fingers over it whenever he’s feeling lonely and know that Louis cares. ‘You’ve always got me’.

 

Harry just nods, too overwhelmed to think of anything coherent to say other than “thank you.”. He just nods and curls up in Louis’ arms and pulls him closer until their bodies are flush against one another, every inch of them touching save for a few layers of clothes.

 

Louis is stroking his hair, carding his fingers through the wild curls, and it calms Harry down like nothing else. “Lou?” He mumbles, almost drowsy with the intensely peaceful feeling washing over him.

 

“Yeah?” Louis smiles, his fingers still working through Harry’s chocolate curls.

 

“I think I’m ready. I want to meet them. Niall and Zayn, I mean.” He smiles a timid, watery smile, and Louis kisses his cheek.

 

“We don’t have to, not yet. Not until you’re ready, okay? I’m really sorry, Haz, I shouldn’t have reacted like that.” Louis apologizes again, still sheepish.

 

“No-Louis, I want to.” Harry insists firmly, his hand curling around Louis’ wrist. “Please.” He adds shyly, chewing his lip because he hadn’t even considered that Louis might not want him to meet his friends, that he might be embarrassed of Harry. That is, until he recalls their row the previous night, how Louis had been so angry that he didn’t want to meet them and decides that he’d better give it a try.

 

“Okay.” Louis smiles and kisses the top of Harry’s head again, too shy to kiss his lips but too smitten not to kiss him at all.

 

He carefully takes Harry’s hand and pulls him down, leading him to the car and buckling him in.

 

“Are you aware that I can perfectly do that myself?” Harry asks with a smile as soon as Louis is in the driver’s seat. He tugs on the buckle over his chest to emphasize his point.

 

“Hmmm,” Louis hesitates playfully, “maybe. Maybe I’m just being a nice person.”

 

Harry laughs a little at that. “Always the gentleman.” he smiles as Louis takes his hand again. Harry’s stomach fills with butterflies and relief when he realises that that’s still a thing.

 

“Not yesterday.” he hears Louis mumble under his breath, voice filled with guilt and regret.

 

“Lou, it’s fine,” Harry tries to reassure him, “it’s not a big deal.”

 

“It’s just…” Louis starts to say, but he can’t really find his words. Harry tends to do that to him. Louis always has some kind of response ready, always has to have the last word, but with Harry, it really doesn’t even matter. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.” he chooses to say instead.

 

“It’s fine.” Harry repeats softly, running his fingers of Louis’ knuckles and enjoying the softness of his skin, wondering if he’s that soft all over. And once his mind ventures down that path, there’s no easy return. His breath catches in his throat as he imagines the heat of Louis’ skin surrounding him, imagines being engulfed by that coffee smell. He imagines Louis touching him in places he’s never been touched before, and his cheeks turn a vibrant shade of red, heating up at the thought.

 

“You okay?” Louis asks gently, rubbing Harry’s hand. “You’re awfully quiet, over there.” he teases.

 

Harry has to shake his head to push his less-than-innocent thoughts back, swallowing thickly. “Yeah,” he manages to squeak. “M’fine, completely fine.” he decides more firmly, and Louis mistakes his timidness for anxiety over meeting Niall and Zayn. He spends the rest of the ride explaining that they really aren’t so bad, and Harry spends it trying not to think of how Louis’ skin would feel beneath his fingertips, or what he would sound like at the height of pleasure.

 

All too soon, they arrive at Louis’ apartment. Louis dramatically scoops Harry up into his arms, kissing his forehead, and Harry is astounded by the way Louis can manhandle him like that, struck by how strong he is. Wary of repeating the awkward scene in the car, he squashes those thoughts and begs Louis to put him down until Louis concedes.

 

He holds Harry’s hand though, all the way to the front door and then inside, after he finds his key. “Guys?” Louis calls, still clutching Harry’s hand so he won’t get lost. Nervousness engulfs Harry, stabbing like an icicle in his chest and inhibiting his lungs because he’s lost again, just like that first day in therapy. He doesn’t know where he is, isn’t aware of his surroundings. All he has is Louis anchoring him to his spot.

 

Footsteps echo down the stairs, a gentle pitter-patter followed, a few seconds later, by a much louder stomping, and Harry squeezes Louis’ hand for support. Louis, reacting instinctively, wraps his arm around Harry’s shoulders and pulls him close to settle his nerves. “You’re okay,” he murmurs into Harry’s ear, his warm breath washing over the skin and making it turn pink.

 

“You must be Harry.” The crisp, gentle voice seems to come out of nowhere, and Harry startles slightly. “Y-yeah, Harry. Hi, -er…what’s your name?” he stammers nervously, chewing his lower lip and clinging to Louis’ side.

 

“It’s Zayn, nice to meet you. We’ve heard a lot about you.” Zayn teases, poking Louis’ side. Louis swats his hand away, kicking his ankle in protest. Then the stomping catches up and there are new sounds and scents in the room: heavy steps and the smell of dirt and grass and sweat and perhaps beer, and a lively laugh that overpowers all of those things when Niall recognizes him.

 

“You’re Harry? Shit, mate. Nice t’ meet ya! Thought we’d never get the chance, Zayn told m-” he cuts off abruptly, and from the sharp, smacking sound, Harry can only assume Zayn covered his mouth. A murmured ‘shut up, you tit, Louis told me not to tell you’, affirms Harry’s suspicions. Niall allows the atmosphere to be uncomfortable for about a half second, before prying Zayn’s hand off his lips and all but shouting, “anyone up for some board games?”

 

—

 

As it turns out, board games means three-team monopoly, because Harry’s never played the old version and Louis offered to be a unit with him. And that seems to entail Louis lying half on top of him on the floor of their living room, one arm and half his body draped over Harry’s back and his smell all around. Harry lets out a soft groan, very grateful indeed that he’s lying on his belly and not his back.

 

Half an hour later and Louis and Harry are obviously winning - he’s fairly certain Louis has been cheating somehow though. Not that Harry has been following the game - Louis’ body heat and smell is distracting, and on top of that, Harry can’t even see the board. Louis more than makes up for it by whispering everything that’s happening in Harry’s ear. Which doesn’t help at all because it makes Harry’s tummy do funny things it definitely should not be doing when there’s other people around.

 

Harry jumps a little when an unexpected sounds rushes to his ears. Suddenly, he can hear someone flipping over the board, the pieces on it landing everywhere. Louis runs his hand from the base of Harry’s spine all the way to his neck when he feels Harry tense up. It’s probably a calming gesture, but it’s everything but calming to Harry.

 

“I’m sick of this game.” Niall declares - apparently he’s the one who just flipped over the board. “Let’s watch a movie.”

 

Louis jumps up suddenly, his body heat leaving Harry’s side. “You just can’t stand it that you’re losing!” he accuses, stomping his socked feet on the carpet. Harry chuckles a little at how immature this conversation is.

 

“I’m not!” Niall defends, “This game is just really boring and I want to watch a movie.”

 

Before any of them can say anything, Zayn stands up and interrupts. “You two are children, I swear,” he sighs, “Niall, clean this mess up.”

 

Niall whines but Harry can hear he starts picking up the pieces anyway. He jumps a little when he feels someone poking his side, but relaxes when he realises it’s Louis.

 

“Get up, lazy bum.” Louis urges Harry on, still poking his side, “We’re going to watch a movie because Niall over here is a big manchild.”

 

Harry yawns and smiles lazily up at Louis, clambering to his feet with some help. Louis leads him to the couch and immediately pulls Harry into his lap for a cuddle while Niall sets up the movie and shitshitshit Harry thinks, because all he can think of is the erogenous territory right beneath him and the fact that it’s just four simple layers of fabric that separate his bum from Louis’ dick and god he’s on a roll, tonight.

 

Louis’ fingers run through his curls again, as Louis is so fond of doing, and Harry sighs, letting his naughtier thoughts slip from his mind as he contents himself to be in Louis’ arms. This is enough, for now. All he needs is for Louis to hold him and he’ll be alright. Happily, he cuddles into Louis’ shoulder and signs sleepily.

 

Within minutes, Harry is softly snoring in his lap and Louis is smiling adoringly at his precious sleeping figure, his hands still working through Harry’s hair methodically. After the movie ends and the clock indicates that it’s 10:32pm on a Wednesday night, Louis reluctantly wakes Harry, nudging him gently.

 

“Wassamatter?” Harry grumbles sleepily, his hands curling into little fists and clutching the fabric of Louis’ tee shirt. It’s so adorable, Louis thinks he might melt. He presses a chaste kiss to Harry’s forehead, nuzzling him awake.

 

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” he teases with a giggle, bumping Harry’s nose with his. Harry’s cheeks turn a delicate shade of pink, heating up at the affectionate gesture. Louis shifts so that Harry is sitting instead of laying in his lap, to further wake him up. And, well, if he notices the slight tent in Harry’s jeans, he doesn’t say anything about it. His cheeks do redden, though, and he hastily helps Harry to his feet, unsure what to do about the situation, unsure what Harry wants from him.

 

“I think we’d best get you home, Hazza. You’ve got school tomorrow.” He insists hurriedly, already hunting for his shoes and jacket, leaving Harry in the family room with Zayn and Niall, lost.

 

Just when he’s starting to get panicky, Louis is back with his arms around him, hugging him close.

 

“Sorry, love. I didn’t think, I’m sorry.” He murmurs, petting Harry’s curls so sweetly that Harry forgives him before he’s even begun talking.

 

“S’alright, I’m fine.” Harry grins, nuzzling into Louis’ shoulder.

 

“So, you ready? Time to head home?” Louis smiles and helps Harry up, holding his hand firmly.

 

“Yeah, sure.” Harry smiles, surprisingly reluctant to leave Niall and Zayn. In spite of the fact that he slept through most of the movie, he really enjoyed getting to hang out with them. He gets why Louis adores them so much, and he’s just a bit less nervous about inviting them into the family of People He Allows Near Him. “It was really nice to meet you guys.” he mumbles shyly, blushing again.

 

“Of course, mate. Great t’ meet you too!” Niall grins and gives Harry a pat on the back. Zayn gives him a hug and says that he hopes Harry will be around more often, in the future. He says it with such satisfaction, with such a genuine voice, that Harry hopes Zayn knows something that Louis hasn’t told him yet.

 

“Alright, alright. Let’s get a move on, yeah? Gotta get wittle baby Hazza back in time for bed.” he teases, ruffling Harry’s curls fondly. In truth, he just wants a little time to keep Harry for himself.

 

Harry’s blushing deeply again by the time they walk out of the door, and Louis smiles to himself, satisfied with still having that effect on Harry even though they’ve known each other for a while now. Harry clutches Louis’ hand tightly while Louis leads him outside and to the car, only letting go when he really has to. Harry looks a lovely kind of sleepy in the passenger’s seat of his car, and Louis takes a second to just look at him while he buckles himself in, the moonlight casting a soft glow over Harry’s face. Louis wants to reach out and brush his hands over Harry’s cheeks, but the boy is already dozing off again, and Louis briefly wonders if being blind is exhausting; if it’s tiring to have to compensate with your other senses, to have to focus on sounds and feelings all the time.

 

Louis carefully takes Harry’s hand in his after he’s started driving - purely out of the force of habit, he tells himself -, trying his best to be gentle so he doesn’t startle Harry and wake him. Harry stirs a little and sighs, a tiny noise escaping his lips, and Louis might crash the car if Harry keeps being so endearing because he can’t even properly focus on the road anymore, Christ.

 

He has to wake Harry up eventually though. When Louis arrives at his house, he walks around the car and opens Harry’s door, brushing his cheek gently.

 

“Harry.” he whispers, and Harry stirs again, his eyes opening slowly even though he can’t see anything.

 

“Mmm?” Harry hums, stretching out his long legs.

 

“We’re home,” Louis says softly, taking Harry’s hand, “Time for bed.”

 

Louis gently helps him out of the car, Harry moving even slower than usual because of how sleepy he is. Louis puts an arm around his waist and pulls him close, walking him to the front door. He turns his head to kiss Harry’s cheek when they’re standing on the front porch, summoning that lovely rosey colour to Harry’s cheek again.

 

“Did you have fun today?” he asks, running his fingers up and down Harry’s side.

 

Harry nods and yawns, pushing himself even closer to Louis, not wanting to get away from his warmth just yet. “Your friends are really nice.” he answers, shivering at Louis’ touch.

 

“I’m glad you like them.” Louis smiles, and he’s not sure if the shivers he feels under his fingertips are real or if he’s just imagining them. “It’s late though, you should go inside. I’ll see you soon.” he adds.

 

Harry doesn’t move though, and Louis frowns. “Haz, come on. I’ll text you in the morning.”

 

Harry pouts a little. “That’s a long time from now.”

 

“I know.” Louis says softly, “How can I make up for it?”

 

Harry’s quiet for a little, and his cheeks get even redder. He fumbles with his fingers a bit, takes a deep breath and then he speaks. “Um,” he hesitates, “Maybe you could kiss me?”

 

Harry says it so softly that Louis isn’t sure he heard it right. “What?” he says, baffled.

 

“I mean, no, um, no you don’t have to,” Harry babbles, voice shakey, “Forget I said anything, you…”

 

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence because Louis is effectively interrupting him with his lips on Harry’s. He can feel Harry tense up in what must be surprise, but he relaxes soon enough and kisses Louis back. Louis presses his body closer to Harry’s, and Harry responds by shyly putting his hands on Louis’ waist underneath his denim jacket. It’s not a heated kiss but it lasts quite a while, and Harry sighs softly when they finally break apart.

 

“Will that keep you satisfied until tomorrow morning?” Louis asks, smiling wide even though Harry can’t see it. Louis hopes he can hear the contentment in his voice though.

 

Harry smiles brighter than Louis, if that is even possible, and nods. “I wouldn’t mind if you did that again soon though.”

 

“I just might.” Louis says, finally letting go of Harry, kissing his cheek and taking a step back. “Goodnight, Haz.”

 

“G’night, Lou.” Harry greets, and then he goes inside, leaving Louis with a warm feeling in his chest.


End file.
